


Iceblink

by Oceanbreeze7



Category: Alex Rider - Anthony Horowitz
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Bad Jokes, Body Horror, Canon-Typical Violence, Found Family, Gen, Hardcore Parkour, MI6 Agents, Nile uses too many knives, SCORPIA is savage, Stormbreaker Compliant, Street Rat Alex, Yassen Gregorovich Lives
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-23
Updated: 2019-10-23
Packaged: 2020-12-31 16:02:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 43,189
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21148400
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Oceanbreeze7/pseuds/Oceanbreeze7
Summary: In one world, Alan Blunt held true in his threat and deported Jack.In one world, Alex Rider bailed out of foster care.In one world, Yassen Gregorovich is pickpocketed by a street rat in London, just after assassinating Sayle.And Yassen won't let that stand...and somehow, he accidentally takes the boy as his apprentice.(What was his name again?)[Canon Divergence, carries through Point Blanc]





	1. Part 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [galimau](https://archiveofourown.org/users/galimau/gifts).

There was a boy hunkered in a shadowed alcove of a patio umbrella with an arm wrapped around the knee drawn to his chest, he wore an expression of dull contentment that matched the sky so artfully it could have only been shaped with the most delicate of care. He embodied the textbook posture of relaxation- of accidental casualness. It took active focus to detect the errors in his posture; the way that his left shoulder arched a little too inward, or how the hand around his knee rested a touch too light.

Admittedly, Yassen could have missed the mark himself. If he had anything better to do- if he were on a job, then yes, he would have overlooked the boy just as everyone else did. Only the stagnation of waiting and watching brought such illumination to the clearly calculating child.

The more Yassen looked (forcing his eyes to shift subtly enough to imply he was glancing at pigeons) the more numerous smaller details began to pop. The jacket around the boy’s shoulders seemed slightly too large- not quite the wrong size but enough to know the child hadn’t bothered trying it on before purchase. That concept leads to multiple other variables, possibilities that would narrow down when information presented itself. The boy cared little for his appearance, or put great effort into looking such way.

The child had a pastry on the table. Three bites taken, enough remaining to deter the store owners from shooing him off the patio, yet not so untouched it looked as if he still waited for someone. He had no drink.

It was a hot day- or as hot as muggy London could be. Everyone would have a drink on a day like this, especially a boy eating a crumbling pastry.

_‘He’s watching.’ _Yassen concluded, trying his best to ignore the boy as he melded with the environment. Old tactics slid through his fingers like silk.

Point into the glass display case. Point at the sign while ordering. Use a slight foreign accent. Pay in cash. Fumble over coins ever so slightly, let them assume he had no reason to rush. Let them believe he fit here.

Waiting was his specialty but without stimulation even his mind went to rot. Yassen walked outside, observing the status of the child. The boy had turned, peeling back strips of baked dough to nibble casually. Something had caught his eye then, prompting the child to move. Maybe it was Yassen himself, a visual reminder that time ticked on outside the boy's meditative placement. Perhaps Yassen had reminded the child of something else. Too many variables.

A bicycle drifted by, chiming out twice on its bell. Yassen lifted his hand in an absentminded wave. Let them all believe he lived here, that he was one of them.

A group of pigeons waddled to Yassen’s feet, cooing low and curious. Yassen did not look until they were so close he could mold false surprise and toss little bits of crumb on the ground. A dog barked somewhere. The cafe cashier turned on the television.

The boy rose having finished with his pastry. A motorcycle grumbled from somewhere, rising in roar as it waited at the adjacent stoplight.

“Cute, right?” the boy said. He squatted on the ground nearest Yassen’s side. The birds warbled, stumbling around in a haze as the boy stirred up their anxiety. Yassen flicked another crumb to the ground, the birds waddled back. The boy giggled, invested in the birds. With a stretch, the child straightened and yawned. The boys back cracked softly, muffled under the coat and cotton shirt. The thoracic vertebra had popped. The child’s shoulders forced into a new position.

There was something twitching in Yassen’s head. A wire struggling to connect to output. Something hadn’t settled right- the bird cooing or the boy’s voice. Yassen knew he had never seen the boy before but still… the child’s posture and tone felt foreign and wrong. It wasn’t his words or the interest in the birds. The boy _was _interested in them…

The boy stuffed his hands into his pockets before walking off. Yassen watched him, mentally tracing the shape of the jacket. Too large, his jeans brand new but patched along the left thigh from a defective seam. Who would purchase pants with a broken seam upon manufacturing?

It was the giggle.

The giggle had been wrong. Airy, breathy in delight. It was the _laugh, _it had been _wrong. _

Why would a boy force a _giggle? _Why would-.

Yassen’s hand shifted, trailing over the deflated shape of his front left pocket. His thigh closest to the boy, who had vanished around the corner silently in the rumbling ambiance of a motorcycle waiting at a stoplight.

Yassen hadn’t been pickpocketed in..._ years _now. Much less by a _boy._

Yassen stood and calmly gathered his things and disposed of them in the nearest wastebasket. If he shouted, the cafe employee would make a fuss and scare the thief. Worse, they would want the police to get involved. Yassen hadn’t anything of _serious _importance in the wallet- a false driver's license, cash, dead credit cards that would lead to nothing.

It wouldn’t be horrible. Yassen had been trapped in monotony for days now, living off a false identity until MI6 relaxed. Then he could slip across the border, disappear again.

He didn’t always agree with orders issued by **SCORPIA** command, much less a bright public assassination of Yassen’s previous employer.

The boy was slipping further away, likely still thinking that Yassen had yet to notice. Granted, the move by the thief _was _excellently executed. Yassen could list only a handful of operatives that would manage such a maneuver with more grace.

Yassen was bored. **SCORPIA** would be annoyed if he compromised yet another identity. Due to being _robbed._

Yassen’s longer legs ate distance faster than a child on a casual stroll. Anyone escaping pursuit would look for a crowd to mingle with.

Few stores were open on this side of London. More likely the boy would forego a crowd entirely and instead make his escape to somewhere hidden. Alcoves were few and far between, but upper stories of most buildings were accessible from locked doors and fire escapes.

Yassen leaped and grabbed the bottom railing of a hanging fire escape. He hauled himself up to the landing. The metal stairs after were easy to climb, flakes of rust snowing downwards as he ascended as quietly as possible.

The motorcycle rumbled on in the distance, vanishing in the bustle of a million individual lives.

An air compressor kicked on. It vibrated loudly as it pumped cold air into the flats nearest to Yassen. He climbed, finding the roof lip and climbing over that as well to settle on the tacky tar rooftop of the apartment complex. The air ventilation rumbled. Somewhere a few streets over in a park, a kite flew merrily in the grey sky.

His thief perched himself near a dense collection of ducts. He sat with one leg free facing the best view of the city. To the North, a domed church glinted with tarnished bronze. The distant Thames sluggishly pooled about its dark wool waters. A patch of darker clouds to the East gave enough ambiguity to concern the weatherman. The boy surveyed London, relaxed with the same casual ease he had with his pastry.

The boy flipped through Yassen’s wallet, carefully maneuvering and shifting aside papers and coupons to feel along the seams. Across the roof, Yassen could see the slight furrowing as the boy managed to find what Yassen knew as an emergency lockpick. The boy hadn’t noticed that his location was now compromised. Yassen intended to keep his advantage for as long as possible.

Yassen pressed forward, only a half dozen strides before the boy spotted movement of some sort and sprang to his feet. The boy’s eyes were wide and alarmed. He held Yassen’s (now empty) wallet guiltily with both hands. The boy’s fingertips were pressing carefully into the clear anomaly along the leather.

“What the hell?” the boy blurted. London accent. Standard associated with boys this age. Nothing unusual.

“Is this like… is this a shiv? No, are- are you like...a _kidnapper?”_

Well, it wouldn’t do to clarify the boy’s confusion with something worse.

“Oh lord,” the boy mumbled. He shook his head, looking half exasperated and half accepting. “Of course this is my life now. Well, I’m going to _leave, _and… wait. How the hell did you get _up _here- no. Nevermind.”

Half curious and half-amused, Yassen stepped forward.

The boy audibly groaned before stepping backward. His posture drooped into a natural slouch, every inch his age. Yassen stalked forward. He would be getting the wallet back.

“Oh bloody hell no.”

The boy skittered backward like that of a panicking insect. He’s grimace bared his teeth which at one point, had braces. The boy stuffed the wallet into his pockets, hopping backward while Yassen strode one step closer.

The boy hesitated on the far lip of the rooftop, his ankles pressing into the concrete ledge.

Yassen arched one eyebrow intrigued. _‘What will you do now, child?’_

The boy lifted his chin in defiance, raised one hand in a military salute, and jumped off the roof.

Yassen had to confess, he did not anticipate that course of action.

Four stories high as well as the decorative weight supports equated to lethal impact. If the child landed a specific way, it would result in only severe bone fractures. The boy had _jumped _off a _building._

Yassen peered over the edge, already resigned to childish snot, screaming, and bright red blood. Perhaps even a corpse if the boy was as stupid as he seemed.

The boy was not dead or injured. In fact, the boy had _somehow _managed to _skip _across the decorative stone detailing on the second floor.

The boy was escaping down a vintage lamppost that held a decorative hanging basket. The child stumbled to the ground, hopped a few times to absorb the shock impact, and looked back up.

The boy waved, teeth reflecting sunlight. This…was interesting.

Yassen waved back.

* * *

Yassen never thought himself to be a man fond of surprising others, but he did feel a tad smug when he seemingly appeared in front of his little thief an hour later.

“How the-,” the boy spluttered. The spitting likely due to the fact he was washing his face in a chlorinated public fountain. Interesting, most children cared little for hygiene.

“I believe you have something of mine,” Yassen said.

The boy blinked and watched him, gawking outright. His eyes flickered behind Yassen. Calculating just how far he had tracked him. To a civilian, multiple kilometers may have been too far.

“You _are _a kidnapper,” the boy said resigned and exhausted. He splashed the water almost glumly. “Well, I guess it could be wo-_.”_

The boy splashed water directly into Yassen’s face. It was childish, stupid, and Yassen completely fell for it.

His usual opponents did not fight like a child, however, one colleague of his did act like one. By the time Yassen recovered from the theoretical attack, the boy was sprinting across the clearing. The child was fast, maybe there was potential in there somewhere.

The boy wasn’t predictable, but he was logical. By ignoring the standard locations any thief would go, and instead applying the thoughts of someone who wanted to avoid pursuit, Yassen could find him with little effort.

Clinging to the underside of a public bridge. Hiding in the fourth branch in a tree outside an insurance company. Snatching a parasol, towel, and somehow acquiring a dog.

At some point, exasperation peeled away to raw determination. Flashes of terror, of pre-determined movement, now guided the boy’s hand. Reactions too quick to be learned on the spot, they had been built up slowly over time and the crushing weight of being hunted.

He was running from something or someone. Trying to stay out of sight, out of mind of a faceless entity.

The boy crawled up another fire escape, cleverly hidden behind an advertisement sign for the Natural History Museum. Yassen grappled the adjacent ladder, ascending quicker to wait on the rooftop for his prey.

The expression on the child’s face melted away. It transformed into something pale and plain. An unnamed expression, an unnamed boy.

Yassen watched him, giving the smallest of nods. Approval in the shape of an acknowledged challenge.

The boy locked his jaw, shifted his grip, and plummeted down the railing.

Yassen followed.

* * *

There was an MI6 agent on his tail managing to follow him across London. Alex thought he had been good at hiding, but evidently, he slipped somewhere along the way.

“Why can’t you just give up!” he hissed to himself. Skittering around one bend, his ankle nearly gave out. His shoes were starting to break, the innermost seam splitting from all his drastic escapes. It wasn’t _his _fault. People threw out all sorts of clothing, but lord forbid they throw out _shoes._

The agent still followed him, taking a split second to determine which route Alex ran.

Alex didn’t know _how _the man was doing it. He had already pulled his popular tricks. Not even his reliable measures were working- this man was a caliber of his own.

It just meant that Alex would need to get more innovative.

“Okay, I’ve got this,” Alex said to himself, stretching and flexing his hands. The wallet still rested snuggly in his pocket, cinched below his belt to make sure it didn’t fall out. He wanted to split the seams, investigate that hard rod that reminded him distantly of Ian sewing things to _his _wallet.

Same tricks as his late uncle. Alex would have to be smarter.

Battersea was a nice area of London, South of the River Thames. On a normal day, he’d prefer to stay on this side. It was nicer, a bit more spread out with the public parks.

The other side of the river had taller buildings and more rooftops but also more police and cabby drivers looking for any scruffy kid to swear at. MI6 would know central London much better than southern, which meant that Alex had to stay low and move very fast.

Alex sprinted, catching a moving trolley with a bit of luck and a lot of hope. He could see his stalker pause on the street corner, knowing _exactly _where Alex had gone.

“Oi! Kid, you paying?” the cable car driver shouted, smacking the back of his hand on the metal tin towards the front. Small fee for basic lifts, which Alex knew.

“Yeah! Give me a mo’!” Alex shouted, trying to spot the nearest road sign. He needed to figure out where the hell he even _was._

The next time the car slowed to a crawl, Alex leaped out to freedom. Already sprinting towards the Battersea Park, he took a brief second to think through is plan.

He _knew _that Battersea Park had a children's zoo. A few standard farm animals, then the exotics like otters, birds, and curious things from America. Alex personally knew one _asshole _emu that would attack him with the wrath of God.

With any luck, he would be able to lose his chaser in the confusing maze of metal chain link, impenetrable cages, and the demonic wrath of a grounded bird.

Alex barely made it inside the main fence (ducking behind a poor father pushing a double stroller filled with twins) when his attacker appeared once more. Calm, competent. Alex hated that of all things, the relatively unassuming petite man turned out to be an _agent. _

Alex had only targeted him because his shirt looked _designer; _any local flaunting that sort of quality on a normal day meant a heavy wallet.

Instead, Alex managed to pickpocket the _only twink agent _in all of MI6, and now Alex was hiding behind a stinky alpaca with cabbage breath.

The agent paused, scanning the streets with a disinterested look. He was underestimating Alex. While slightly offensive- it meant that Alex had the advantage of being ridiculous with his getaway. The river, just like he remembered, was just North of the zoo.

The agent turned away and Alex slipped under the wooden fence into the domesticated livestock pasture. The alpaca glared at the invasion of its personal space. A goat across the field looked near overjoyed with a new playmate.

“Not today, buddy!” Alex hissed out, patting the goat firmly before he inched through the wooden railings on the other side. He’d stay well away from the birds; the miniature horses only bit a little if you didn’t watch your legs.

The geese though, they were mean bastards and they knew it too. One of Alex’s main defensive tactics on why he decided to sprint through the zoo.

The far gates were a welcome relief. Rolling flowerbeds and exhausted yoga mothers sprawled in the shade. The London Peace Pagoda drew in tourists like flies. Idiots, Alex knew personally it was nicer to sleep there when it was raining.

Alex ran, a few people stepped aside to give him room. He contemplated stealing a dog from someone to fit in better, but with how open the park was the owners would likely start shouting and draw more chaos into the mix. Not to mention the poor dog would get anxious.

“Okay, almost there,” Alex said, heaving through his breaths. The stitch on his right shoe gave out, every step flashed skin near his arch.

The River Thames burbled gently, slightly smelly because all rivers in London were. On nice days like this, residents would drift up and down the river in little boats or kayaks, ogling London from the waterline.

The Thames had strong waters in the center, where the larger tugboats would drift up and down burbling happily. Sometimes sailboats would pass through, waving at anyone on an evening stroll. Few boats ever drifted near the barrier walls, except fishing boats with enthusiastic men casting into the deeper water.

Alex grasped the railing attached to the sidewalk. He hauled himself up over the side of the barrier.

His body burned and his fingertips tingled in that way Ian once told him meant he hadn’t enough air. He needed to calm his heart or breathe faster. A dog barked behind him, chasing a frisbee.

“Oi!” Alex shouted over the railing. His shout sounded more like a balloon aggressively deflating, but both the fishermen glanced up instantly. They were young. Likely late teenagers messing around on a day off. Alex wet his lips and shouted down: “You going my way?”

They squinted up at him, drawing in their lines. “What? Mate you’re way up there!”

“No problem!” Alex hollered back, already climbing up over the second smaller railing. The drop was only a good ten feet if he jumped. He could manage it. “Hold it!”

He landed in the boat and immediately threatened to tip it. Both his escorts shouted in alarm, flailing at the uncoordinated rocking. Alex yelped and scrambled to sit in the middle and hang on if worst came to worst.

“You’re a lunatic!” the one fisherman shouted. “Nearly flipped us! Where’s your nanny, eh? Get out of my boat!”

“Take me to the other side! Or downriver!” Alex challenged, pointing at the wall which they were drifting away from slowly. “I’m already here! Fishing’s better downriver anyways.”

It wasn't, but these two wouldn’t know that. They exchanged a look before the one grumbled and kicked the motor. It spat angrily before complying, starting up a nasal tin and the greasy stink of diesel.

They chugged along, slowly rising and dropping over the white-crested wake left behind from larger boats. A close call splashed river water across Alex’s arm, drenching his sleeve.

“This is wild,” the one teenager driving the boat said. He was grumbling angrily with one hand on the outboard. The boat was moving too slow for Alex’s preference.

Chugging along, dark water sloshed with thick white foam. Alex hadn’t been on the water in a long time- not since Ian had taken him to Mexico to learn to snorkel and scuba. They had practiced breaking across the American border there, how to stay low and out of sight.

He should have known. Normal families didn’t do that. They wouldn’t jeopardize safety over _breaking an internationally border. _

It had been for fun, except it wasn’t and Ian was a liar and a spy and now he was dead. Alex didn’t know where they buried him.

“Oi!” the bowman shouted, waving one arm forward. A boat cut across the rover, smoothing into idle as it drifted towards them quickly. The pointed bow lifted high now that the engine slowed. So high it gave the illusion of sinking backwards into the water like the Titanic.

“You’re shitting me,” Alex blurted, feeling resignation sink further than any anchor could. “How the _hell _did…”

“You know him?” the cap-teen asked, waving politely as the MI6 agent waved back.

Alex thought quickly. He could push the kid aside, grab the engine and kick it into high throttle. The movement would throw the other off also- but the larger engine would overtake him in an instant. The fiberglass hull would smash his aluminum bathtub like cardboard. Alex would sink, and the MI6 agent would drag him ashore exhausted and nearly drowned.

It would be easier to comply, to climb aboard and escape the moment he could. The agent would have to dock at some point. At that time they would be slow and near a high traffic port where Alex could climb onto something else and escape.

If Alex ran now, he’d likely end up throwing his two boat owners overboard. No matter how much he didn’t want to be abducted, he didn’t want to kill two strangers.

“Yeah, I know him,” Alex said, making sure to lock eyes with the mute agent. “Thanks for the lift guys.”

His boat buddies argued something, threatening to hit him with a fishing net when Alex scrambled and leaped off. The fishing boat teetered dangerously, prompting more swearing as some water drooled over the lip.

The hull of the larger boat slammed into Alex’s stomach, hooking under his ribcage and keeping him secure even as he lost the ability of breath. Alex’s shoes dragged in the water, kicking futile in the surf.

“Don’t struggle.”

A hand grabbed the back of his coat and hauled him up by the stitching along his shoulders. Alex felt his legs and body dangle uselessly, he hung there squawking.

“Oi! Thanks, mister! Got a freeloader there!” the boat captain shouted, waving in good cheer before turning the motor on and zooming away towards the reedy bank.

Alex heard the agent huff slightly, a wordless sound of nameless emotion. Alex hung there, irritated and feeling very much like a drowned cat.

“Are you going to jump if I let you down?” 

Alex hated how deep and smooth his agent sounded.

“Fine,” Alex clipped out sourly. “It’s not like I can _go _anywhere.”

“You could try,” the man mused. “You’d drown.”

Alex wouldn’t, but he wouldn’t say that. He’d wait until the agent took him to a marina, then he’d jump for it and escape somewhere. Climb onto a sailboat and hide under in the cabin, maybe swim to shore or hide near the boat lifts.

“Do not run,” the man warned pointedly. He set him down gently, reinforcing just how high Alex had been dangling.

The boat was nice, surprisingly open to the elements. There was no below bow to hide. It was open and exposed to the air with twin vinyl seats arched into a point. The engine vibrated under a thick hatch, the exhaust bubbled near silent under the water. Alex couldn’t think of how to sabotage the machinery without getting that hatch open- which likely had a hydraulics switch.

There wasn’t an onboard jet ski or escape boat. There wasn’t anything he could use for a weapon except a large oak paddle too chunky to sneak out of its mount.

The agent smacked the back of Alex’s shoulder. Alex stumbled forward in a stagger, catching his hands on the back of the passenger seat and digging his blunt nails into its vinyl. The agent ignored him, walking up the aisle to settle near the driver's seat and lift the lever into throttle.

The boat lunged forward, bow lowering slowly as the trim-tabs and other boat mechanics worked their magic.

They were going too fast for Alex to jump off safely- not to mention the other boats in the Thames could hit him. The agent clearly knew how to work this.

“Where are we going?” Alex shouted, voice hoarse and echoing in his head. He wasn’t sure the man could hear him. Alex saw the quick flicker of his kidnapper’s eyes. He didn’t bother responding, opting to guide the boat further down the river.

It took a moment for Alex to realize that they weren’t even heading _towards _a marina. Instead, they were heading out towards the mouth of the river. A long boat ride, but his kidnapper showed no sign of slowing.

Had he miscalculated? What did MI6 _want _with him? Sure, they were furious because he bolted from foster care the moment he could… but to send an agent after him with such wordless anger?

What if it _wasn’t _MI6, and this man truly was an insane kidnapper?

Well, Alex wouldn’t stay steady with this sort of leniency. The boat had a thick paddle, which meant it also had other requirements for a sea-faring boat.

Which meant, next to the paddles in the inlet cubby, there would be flares. Alex hadn’t ever loaded a flare with one hand, but he was ambidextrous from Ian’s persistent teaching.

Alex managed his way slowly over, disguising his walk with the staggers of breaking a wave.

More wake disguised his left hand digging into the cubby, finally touching hard plastic of a universal flare. The gun kind; Alex wasn’t willing to test his black belt with a near literal blowtorch.

“Step away from there,” the kidnapper said not looking at him. The kidnapper’s right hand rested steadily on the accelerator, keeping the lever at a gentle incline. Once he moved, it would jerk them both into instant idle as a safety mechanism.

“You’re steering like shite!” Alex shouted over the shout of the wind. “Can’t you drive better?”

The man ignored him, cutting over another crest of waves that sent Alex stumbling- and loading a flare into the gun.

A big fishing boat took control of the main passageway. The kidnapper swung the boat to the proper side. _Red-right-return_, or something along those lines.

Alex shrieked as the water splashed over the windshield, misting his hair. The kidnapper swung further to the side, shifting closer to the high metal groin wall that bordered inner London.

It would be a struggle, but he could make it if he swam hard. But…not before kidnapper could get the boat around, which meant that Alex would need to take over.

“Oi!” Alex shouted, pointing his right arm over and out- towards the fishing boat on their right. “Fuck you too, mate!”

Bait set, hook cast.

Kidnapper’s eyes flickered white; he looked to the right side for a flash of a moment.

_Gotcha._

Alex swung the flare gun around and pulled the trigger before he was in position. The flare shot with less speed than a bullet, but close quarters meant that his kidnapper couldn’t do much to dodge. He was pinned from the captain’s chair, the edge of the boat on his right, and the dashboard in front of him. The left side had the approaching flare, so the man dropped into a squat to avoid the fire just as Alex expected.

Alex lunged forward up swung his knee up to clip and (hopefully) break some teeth. Alex simultaneously swung the hard plastic of the gun down in an arc, disguising jerking the wheel to aim the boat’s bow towards the edge of the river.

Kidnapper lifted his hand, grabbed the flare and _broke it. _Alex abandoned that idea, attempted to punch his kidnapper’s face, then he leaped aside. The throttle slipped into idle _finally_ as they neared fifty meters to the wall.

“And fuck you too!” Alex cheered, leaping aside to use the passenger chair as momentum. He gave one cheeky salute- then dove over the edge into the water.

With how currents ran along the edge of Thames, kidnapper would have to quickly adjust the boat or risk crashing. Maybe he would, but Alex couldn’t imagine wrecking a fancy boat like that just to chase him.

The time Alex surfaced, forced his limbs to kick harder and faster, and touched the thick metal wall; kidnapper and his boat was zooming away at full speed to dock at the nearest possible place. Alex wouldn’t have long.

Climbing up the edge of the Thames wasn’t easy. Enough tourists and fishermen had placed floating air bulbs in the water, so he had something to grab. Thick algae clumped ropes tied them to the guardrail ten feet higher. Alex crawled up and out, spluttering seawater and feeling salty in multiple senses.

“Whoa! Kid, you okay?”

Alex spat out water, heaving. A concerned local on roller skates slid to a stop, kneeling worriedly next to Alex.

“You just crawl out the river? Kid, you okay?”

“No,” Alex coughed out with a wince, rubbing his face tiredly. “Can you get me a cabbie?”

Alex didn’t have any money on him- well, he imagined a cabbie wouldn’t like the soaking papers and Alex didn’t know if kidnapper had any cabbie coupons in his wallet. He’d have to bail the cabbie as soon as he could or find a bike to rob.

“We’re a couple blocks from main, no problem, yeah?” the concerned local asked. He helped him to his feet although the local wheeled a bit on his skates. “I’ll walk you.”

“Thanks,” Alex coughed, still feeling disgusting. The kidnapper would likely be scouring the waterfront street for him soon. “Mind if we head in a bit? Don’t want to see the water anymore.”

“Don’t blame you.” the local chuckled. “In a ways, yeah? There’s a garden just-.”

“Perfect let's go,” Alex croaked. He would look better having a roller-skate companion. Hopefully, the MI6 agent wouldn’t consider Alex’s charisma, something the agent clearly had no familiarity in.

The inner-city parks looked nicer, cleaner and professional. Shiny bronze statues with golden stained hands and tourists taking selfies. Alex didn’t like coming too far into the city, not when the ‘Bank’ was within such proximity.

“You have anywhere to go?” his companion asked him, casually rolling backward to keep pace with Alex. “Sure I can’t call anyone?”

“Nah, I’m not far,” Alex assured shakily. His limbs burned and his mouth tasted like bathwater. “Westminster.”

“Not too far then,” the skater laughed. “Just upriver! You’re in Covent Garden, bit of a bloody mess falling out of your boat though!”

“Just a prank,” Alex assured. “Flatmate a bit of an arse.”

“Ah, always have one of them.”

Alex avoided another roller-skater, one that apparently knew his companion. Alex slipped aside, slinking through the park in a fast walk.

He didn’t have a change of clothes, his shoes still squelched with every step. He was feeling chilled down to his bone.

He wouldn’t have long. He needed to change his face and clothes and hang low. The next chance he got, he needed to trade cities. Maybe run out to Cardiff, hide for a while before sneaking back and meeting up with Tom. His heart throbbed for his old friend, but if he was careful and managed to get his hand on a phone and fumbled through some of the more elaborate networks- maybe that Xbox username Tom never changed- Alex could arrange to meet and get an update on the world.

Until then, he needed to hideaway. He didn’t know London as well as he should. Not as well as a spy. Chelsea was where he grew up, where he prowled the streets and knew every chain link fence and every hedge that was high enough to sleep under. He didn’t _want _to go there, but it would be the best place to lay low until he could hitch a train.

“Okay, right,” Alex said, splashing water on his face in the public toilets. He looked wretched in the mirror. Young, waterlogged. He could use this.

Alex stripped his shirt, hating the fact he was wearing bloody denim. Anything looser would be better, but he’d make do.

He tied the shirt around his hips, using sink water to splash and spike up his hair. He looked just like the average bloke, a bit of a jerk like the kids in his old gym class, but he would be disguised. Swiping a hat would help if he could. The wet denim hid the fact they were jeans but chafed horrid.

“Alright, Trafalgar square,” Alex repeated to himself, closing his eyes. His mental map had never been better. Trafalgar Square, then straight shot to the gardens of Buckingham. If he couldn’t manage a bike from all the tours, then he’d have to stay low and sprint to Westminster. Chelsea wasn’t much further.

Alex made his mind, drank a dozen handfuls of tap water, and stilled himself. Then, he ran.

* * *

Alex found his kidnapper in Trafalgar Square, waiting under a ballcap drinking tea from a paper cup.

He wore all new clothing, different shirt, and pants. Alex almost missed him, but he had kept his shoes. Shoes took too much time to break in and modify and hide little pens and bits in. Alex remembered Ian with a fruit knife at the kitchen table, cutting rubber and melting it back after he slid in garroting wire.

Same shoes, same kidnapper. Alex knew MI6 tricks.

Tourists flocked to the statues lining the square, posing near the bronze men. A trick of the camera to look as large as the rearing horse. Laughing infants stroking the mane of a frozen lion on a pedestal.

The central fountains splashed around, a token of good-luck to anyone needing some.

Alex walked his way over and stuck his fingers to the bottom. He didn’t like taking coins, felt a bit too much like stealing dreams. Stolen wishes and hopes- ironically all because of MI6.

Alex counted enough to rent a bike for a bit, at least manage to hop in a payphone and flag a cabbie.

Alex had a procedure in places like this. Tourists came and went on clockwork. Holding cameras and knickknacks and left them behind when their bus left.

Along the bottom of the fountains, hidden from pictures several bags and jackets clumped together.

Maybe the owners were still here somewhere, maybe not. Alex didn’t look and snatched something red and thin, jamming it into the crease of his wet shirt on his hips.

Walk fast, snatch sunglasses on the corner of a flower planter. Part his hair to the side. Slip on the glasses. Slip on the new redshirt (button-up, cotton?) and rip his old shirt along the seams. Tie back his hair. Tie fabric on his arms.

He looked similar but different. A young kid itching for trouble or cigarettes to bum. He didn’t look wet and scraggly, although his shoes would give him away. Always the shoes.

There were no bikes. Alex traveled to the far side of the square and took the road nearly parallel to Buckingham.

The gardens were thick and well-tended. For Queen and Country and her goddamn Tulips.

More tourists, more guards, and security and diesel smoke double-decker busses. Everything felt hot and sticky. Alex missed the Emu compared to this.

“Hey!” someone shouted, running up with flushed cheeks. Alex paused, looking at the college-aged girl who thrust out her hand. She had a note with something written on the side. “Your dad told me to give you this!”

Alex felt coldness drip down his spine. It wasn’t from the water. “My dad?”

“Yeah!” the girl gasped, keeling over while keeping the note open. “He said...he pointed you out and...and seemed really sad. Told me to...give you this...and remind you to be home for dinner.”

Alex wanted to refuse, to say it wasn’t him. “Oh, thanks.”

“No problem,” the girl wheezed, waving goodbye.

Alex opened the note, staring at the blank clear paper. It was a postcard with no stamp, written on the inside with bold black font. Pressed firmly with strange shifting of the letters, written on the concrete ridges of the statue bases.

> _Don’t be out too late._
> 
> _It’s supposed to rain, and I don’t want you getting caught in it._
> 
> _Be home for dinner._

“Shite,” Alex said. He needed out of the city tonight.

For some reason, his kidnapper sent someone else instead of showing up to take him personally. Alex could ignore that and think it another trap, but something in his gut told him that his kidnapper didn’t want to be noticed by the London police.

“A double-edged sword, eh?” Alex muttered, jogging to the nearest map of the eastern garden lining Buckingham.

There was a small bridge arcing over the river that bisected the garden. Or, he could keep on this side and end up too far north from where he wanted to go.

Was he being too predictable?

His kidnapper found a way to guess where he was heading before, so what was preventing him now?

Alex had to keep moving, get somewhere safe where his kidnapper wouldn’t find him. His kidnapper wasn’t fond of police? Then Alex would stay in the gardens and pop out the other side.

Alex set off at a nice pace, ditching the bandanna and bracelets. There was nothing to be done about his pants, which were really starting to hurt his thighs.

Alex jogged through the garden on the cobblestone paths. The bridge hoisted him up and over the bubbling creek. In the distance, the city shouted its own song and cry of life and activity. Alex used to love it.

Alex ignored Buckingham Palace. He had no business there, hopefully. The gardens shrouded him and his departure destination. Alex hoped he could make it far enough. His luck had never turned on him so badly before.

It was late afternoon and starting to get chilly now that the sun was descending. Tourists were leaving, cabbies drifting and honking as parents returned from work. Alex began a slow walk, exhausted and itching for sleep.

He hadn’t expected his day to go like this, but… he hadn’t thought many things through recently.

He wondered if Jack still thought of him, wherever she was. He wondered if she managed to go to school like she always wanted.

Alex kept walking. Then, he stopped.

Ahead of him, across the road where streetlights began to burn, stood his kidnapper. Leaning against the wall, just under a neon sign, glowing in the light of the nearby Hard-Rock Cafe.

“No,” Alex said. He felt too exhausted to keep going. Alex stood in the shadow of Wellington Arch, made his choice, and began to climb.

It wasn’t easy. Reminiscent of old rock-climbing lessons Ian ingrained in him. Pincer grip, hook grip, use his knees and thighs and squeeze until they creaked.

He climbed, using his elbows to haul himself up and over. Sitting on the stone roof of the famous arch, Alex began to army-crawl higher to the base of the statues. The stone men stood over him, looming in silence.

Alex sat, curling his knees to his chest. His pants were still wet, sticking to him tight and salty and the stolen shirt started to itch. His chest shuddered with broken wheezing. He was so tired.

Alex peered over the edge and scowled at his kidnapper. The man didn’t look impressed- both his eyebrows lifted in a bland emotion. Alex politely lifted his middle finger.

“Oi!” Alex shouted, his voice hoarse and raspy from the unending running of the day. “Tell Blunt to go shove it!”

His stalker stared at him, stilling so slightly Alex was amazed he saw it. He didn’t _think_ the agent would scale the Wellington Arch just to throttle him. Alex wasn’t sure how _he _managed to scale it.

Oh god, they were going to call the police on him to get him down tomorrow morning.

The man watched him, then turned around and walked away outside of the park.

Alex wasn’t fooled. He knew the man was still watching him. The street lamps throughout the park activated. The night turned cold. Alex curled tighter, too afraid to climb down.

He really didn’t want to face Blunt.

He didn’t want to go back.

He really didn’t want to go back.

Alex dozed off then shivered so thoroughly he woke up fetal on his side. He lay there, staring up at the stars. He didn’t know many constellations. Ursa minor, ursa major, draco the dragon. Directly above him, he could count the shape of Orion.

Alex’s stomach ached, his bones felt stretched. He wanted to go home but didn’t know where that was.

“I shouldn’t have taken the bloody wallet,” Alex whispered to himself. He bit his lip because he was too tired to cry.

Alex looked over the edge, rubbing his nose. He stilled, staring at the ground in hunger. There was a McDonald's bag on the pavement, stacked next to a neatly folded blanket.

It was a trap, it was _such _a trap. His stomach growled, and Alex refused to obey it.

The man was still there, this time leaning against the gated entry to the park. The moment he spotted Alex, he straightened and looked directly at him. Then, with slow obvious movements, he pulled out a set of handcuffs from his pocket.

The man snapped the handcuffs on his left wrist, jingling it pointedly, then snapped the other loop to the iron rod of the gate. He tugged. The handcuff secure.

“What?” Alex whispered, voice a croaking noise. The man slowly settled himself on the ground. There was no lie, the handcuffs _were _secure.

Alex hated it, but he was tired and cold and so hungry. He looked over the edge and began to climb.

He touched the ground ready to sprint. The man made no movements. In fact, he closed his eyes and looked quite peaceful.

Alex darted forward, grabbed the bag and blanket before he sprinted back to the arch. A safe distance. Enough warning he could escape before the man even got out of his handcuffs.

“So,” Alex said, wrapping the blanket around his shoulders. The warmth was immediate. “What does Blunt want with me, eh?”

Alex opened the bag, not bothering to look at the man as he fished out the burger. Still wrapped, but he thoroughly investigated it. Rational brain warned him that it was poisoned or drugged, but he was so hungry.

“...What do you think he asks of you?”

Alex snorted, he couldn’t help it. He lolled his head with one unimpressed look, throwing in a glare for good measure. “Oh, screw that. Why can’t you just leave me alone?”

“You’re innovative,” the man said, somehow sounding amused.

“Oh _really?” _Alex growled, scarfing down almost all the fries in record time. “That’s what they’re calling it now? I thought you all were pissed when I took a swan dive out of the bank.”

“Ah,” the man paused. “It was...unexpected.”

Alex snorted. The world spun for a moment, swirling before regaining clarity.

Alex leaped to his feet, jamming his fingers down his throat. He vomited a mixture of partially chewed fries, stinging sour on the pavement. It steamed hot in the air, burning his nose.

“How the…” Alex whispered rhetorically, swaying as he struggled to balance on feet. His stomach was empty and still, his vision flickered.

He didn’t understand. His hands weren’t responding. His knees relaxed and slowly he slid to the ground. Unable to do more than stare dazed forward as his fingers went numb.

He could hear the clicking of metal, echoing around his skull with no definitive source. He heard footsteps, fluctuating and undulating through sound and sensation and Alex felt himself drift dazed into a sense of lethargy beyond all form of thought or cohesion.

Hands shifted, or maybe they weren’t hands at all.

* * *

Alex woke up slow and dazed, staring at a truly horrendous painting on a hotel wall. A…an abstract impressionist of a water lily, composed entirely of shades of green. Alex was nearly positive Tom’s grass stains on his practice jersey had more artistic talent.

The door to the attached washroom opened, spilling out heat and humidity. Alex itched for a shower, unsure of the last time he had the comfort of hot running water. He made do, but it never replaced the longing.

In fact, Alex was slowly gaining feeling and awareness of multiple things.

“You’re awake,” the kidnapper said. He looked wet and fresh. The kidnapper changed into his new clothing inside the washroom after a shower. Good god, Alex was trapped with a psychopath.

“You are...elusive.”

Alex tried to open his mouth to manage some form of insult. He moaned a gargled noise and drooled onto the pillow.

_Gross, _Alex thought. Words were hard.

“Take your time,” the man advised him, walking calmly to the nearby table which housed a small plastic bag with multiple food products inside. He pulled out an apple and a knife from somewhere Alex didn’t see.

His kidnapper sat, crossing one leg across his ankle as he methodically vivisected the apply into small appropriate pieces. “The effects should wear off momentarily now that you are awake.”

Alex struggled, limbs and muscles twitching through feeble muscle-flexing. It took a few tries to get them to cooperate, to move in a synchronized rhythm that elevated him against the pillows. Finally, Alex could meet his kidnapper head-on. Alex had never felt so terrified and comfortable in his life.

“How?” Alex asked although it sounded garbled and distorted. Almost like he had a stroke during the night.

The man finished slicing his apple to shreds and placed it on a small paper plate. “The food was not drugged. The blanket I laced with a topical paralyzing agent. Your exhaustion and malnourishment aided in your state.”

“Oh,” Alex said. That wasn’t something Ian taught him.

The man stood, pawing through the bag again. He withdrew something that looked like Tom’s muscle drinks. With careful hands, the man fished into his own bag (when did that get there?) and retrieved clear pills. He broke them inside the protein shake, shaking it once more for good measure.

“They are vitamin capsules,” he said blandly. “They are not poisoned.”

His kidnapper threw back an identical capsule, swallowing it dry. He then handed over the shake, waiting patiently for Alex’s hands to respond and lift. They didn’t. Alex seethed.

He hadn’t expected his kidnapper to be so...coddling. He heard about people like this. That went after the young ones. MI6 never seemed the type.

“When are you taking me back?” Alex managed, slurring only a couple vowels when his tongue stalled.

The man didn’t look at him. “Once you have recovered.”

“You did this,” Alex accused. “S’ your fault.”

“You are malnourished, exhausted, and exhibit several concerning injuries,” he said pointedly. Alex noticed that he was wearing something much softer than his clothes prior. “You are of little use in this state.”

“S’ not like you cared before,” Alex said. “Blackmail and all.”

The man stared at him, piercingly. The agents Alex met before had never been like this. Even Ian hadn’t been this...jaded.

“Circumstances have changed,” he said. “I have...differing perspectives in relation to Alan Blunt.”

Alex stared. His jaw drooped. Only due to the paralyzing agent, only that.

“Really?” Alex asked, struggling to sit further up. “You aren’t going to tell him? That you got me?”

The man shrugged one shoulder, evaluating him.

“I’m Alex,” he kept out the low bubbling relief. “I mean, I’m sure you already know that. The lockpick in your wallet _is _a lockpick. Because MI6 sent you, but it was a coincidence you found me, right?”

The man watched him, then very slowly nodded.

Alex could have screamed in relief. “Oh, thank god. I thought they were hunting for me again. Last time was the _worst.”_

“Alan Blunt is a dangerous man to anger.”

“I know, I know,” Alex snapped. He shook his shoulders, feeling had finally returned. The shake had gone down easy, but now his stomach demanded the slightly browned apple wedges the spy had carved up earlier. “What’s your name?”

The man stared at him. Very slowly, he opened his mouth and said flatly: “Yassen.”

“Yassen?” Alex repeated, rolling the foreign syllables in his mouth. “Is that Russian? Did I get kidnapped by a _Russian? _Of course you are.”

Yassen’s mouth twitched slightly, an expression Alex quickly realized meant amusement. Yassen stood, tidying something before vanishing quickly out of the door into the hallway. Maybe to talk with the front desk or other spy-things.

Alex knew he wouldn’t get another chance, and a spy’s mercy never lasted long. Alex stood up shakily, stole as much food as he could carry, stole the knife Yassen had cut the apple with and snuck it into his cotton pants.

He also jammed his feet into Yassen’s shoes. Was it petty? Of course it was. Yassen left from the door, so of course Alex couldn’t as well.

So, Alex casually jumped out of the window.

* * *

Alex made it three blocks before he paused outside a street cafe, eerily reminiscent of the one he met Yassen for the first time.

Yassen was already there, wearing sunglasses and reading a newspaper. He had a cup of tea, a half-eaten danish, and an unoccupied chair across from him.

Alex slumped in defeat, settling heavily into the proffered chair. A silent minute later, a waitress appeared with a pastry (also reminiscent of the one Alex had the other day) and a bottle of orange juice.

“You are skilled,” Yassen said flatly.

“Not good enough obviously.”

Yassen hummed a flat noise, saying nothing until Alex ravenously tore into his pastry. Yassen then took a sip of his tea before he went back to reading.

“So what exactly you want from me?” Alex asked, ignoring the flaking crumbs sticking to his face. He was hungry, and free food was free food. “If this is about that thing…”

“No, it isn’t,” Yassen said. He barely blinked when Alex ordered yet another pastry, choking it down in record speed. Yassen finished his tea calmly, setting it aside for the waiter to pick up. “You’re trained.”

“So are you,” Alex pointed out with a small sniff. “Shoes though, spies never want to give them up. Good try though. How did you get that boat?”

Yassen looked at him, making no effort to answer his question. Alex kicked back, swinging his legs up to rest on the arm of the unoccupied chair. His shoes in comparison were ratty, half-destroyed. His cotton pants and shirt looked very similar to pajamas.

“Where are we anyway?” Alex sniffed, picking dirt out from under his nails.

“Chiswick,” Yassen said. “Take your feet off the chair. Now.”

Alex knew that tone of voice from Ian, normally with an accompanying slap. Alex slowly withdrew his legs and curled up on the chair.

“Chiswick is really far away,” Alex realized slowly. “Far way to drag me.”

“I have a car.”

“Well _that’s _not creepy,” Alex muttered. “Apparently a boat too. MI6 give you a company car?”

Yassen’s stare pierced through him. Just to be sure, Alex shifted his legs, so he was sitting properly.

“London isn’t safe, it is wiser to stay out of the city.”

“Which I was _planning _before you chased me all across the Thames.”

Yassen looked amused for the briefest of moments. “You pickpocket well. The Berlin technique.”

Alex shrugged wordlessly. Ian had favored it that way, it wasn’t as common but it worked the best. He grabbed a plastic straw, bending it and fiddling with the plastic.

“Have you used the Florence style?’

“Don’t like it,” Alex grumbled. “Cramps my hand and gets noticeable.”

Yassen smiled ever so faintly. “Rotate your wrist ahead of time.”

“Oh,” Alex said. That would...help a lot.

Yassen made no further words, although he did pay with a randomly adopted accent as the waitress took the generous tip. Alex thought it odd, Ian never bothered with accents.

They walked back along the sidewalk, Yassen snatching Alex and shoving him to the side just in time to avoid getting hit by a bicycle. Alex hunkered his head low, dragged his feet just a little more. Yassen in response nudged him along like a parent penguin.

* * *

Yassen came out of the washroom in their new location, a towel looped loosely around the back of his neck to absorb any stray water droplets.

The boy, Alex, immediately on his entry, lunged off the nearest table with a forearm chop aimed at Yassen’s exposed jugular.

Yassen lifted his arm, blocked the strike, and reciprocated with his own blunted jab. Pulled slightly, it would be inconvenient to cause internal bleeding in his curious project.

The boy puffed out a breath. Wordless frustration. He kicked, shifting style from sophisticated martial arts into a more...street caliber kick. Yassen countered this too with little difficulty.

“Oh come on!” the boy complained angrily, a small red hue to the back of his neck suggesting he had been silently stretching just prior to his attack. Good, it would damage muscles if not prepared thoroughly ahead of time. “Now you can fight too?”

“You’re trained in this as well,” Yassen pointed out bluntly. It was straightforward but addressing it increased the likelihood the boy would elaborate.

Alex scowled, pulling on the slight hollows of his face. Every expression emphasized his malnourished state. Inadequate.

“Yeah, it’s no big deal,” the boy grumbled angrily. He stormed off to one of the beds, leaving Yassen behind. Yassen noted, that Alex had somehow climbed onto the hotel standard wardrobe to launch his attack.

“So, what are you _actually _doing here?’ Alex asked, flopping in a graceless sprawl across the entire double bed. Yassen paid him no mind.

“Can’t you tell me anything?” Alex bemoaned, flopping about more aggressively in his irritation. Children were...irritating.

“You are to remain here,” Yassen instructed coldly. “Eat your breakfast.”

Alex scowled and obliged.

He scarfed down his food in such a way it suggested familiarity, both in his personal lifestyle and experience. He _somehow _knew how to loosen his throat to accommodate larger quantities in shorter times. A technique used by recreational binge drinkers, elite athletes, and food eating competitors. Also used by drug cartels for smuggling products across national borders and spy agencies for consuming temporary gear necessary upon infiltration.

The boy had remarkable potential, and immeasurable knowledge that Yassen knew would benefit **SCORPIA** directly. At this point, cooperation would be possible. If the boy rebelled, field interrogation protocol was simple.

“Okay, fine,” the boy garbled, managing to scrape down nearly an entire glass of milk in one swallow. Yassen had laced the milk with an incredibly light sedative, as well as the mineral and vitamin supplement. He didn’t know Alex’s exact weight or metabolic rate but presumed half the dosage for a child would place him in a dazed state where he wouldn’t protest to sleeping longer as Yassen left. “I’m done with breakfast. _Now, _what are we doing?”

“Nothing,” Yassen said bluntly. He sat on the bed, turning on the local television to the news. British broadcasters tended to focus on worldly events before narrowing into London itself. It was unlikely they would still be discussing the death of Sayle, the “unknown man victim of public homicide” as they claimed. Yassen hadn’t known _how _he had ever managed to stay employed for so long. The original request came nearly a year ago, from then on Sayle had been an absolute nuisance with **SCORPIA **before eventually, his time ran out. A _year _wasted.

“Oh god not you too,” Alex moaned. He lay sprawled over his bed, closest to the wall and the air conditioner unit. “If you’re going to watch the _news, _turn it to Spanish.”

Yassen paused, then he flipped the channel. The boy continued to mumble, snarking out insults or exhaustingly bad attempts at puns. In Spanish.

_‘He’s bilingual,’ _Yassen confirmed as Alex jumped into the unique category of Spanish idioms.

The news shifted, concerning internal affairs. Spanish and inaccurate subtitles ran across the bottom of the screen.

“_La policia encontro rapidamente a un sospechoso en el caso de homicidio.”_

Yassen’s focus sharpened as he translated and found the lie.

_‘The police quickly found a suspect in the homicide case.’_

That was impossible, they had broadcasted it in such a way that suggested it was an isolated incident, not something of a larger scale.

Yassen had been near perfect with his cover, only taking risks with his hasty acquisition of the boat from London’s nearest harbor. They wouldn’t have found a viable suspect, because there _was _no suspect. **SCORPIA **had grown tired of Sayle’s ridiculous antics and provided Yassen the order and cover to execute him. There would be no suspect.

MI6 was playing the public, trying to draw him out of hiding. They knew he was still within the country; perhaps they speculated he even remained inside the city.

He needed to leave as soon as possible.

“Wow, boring,” Alex groaned in English. He yawned, stretching catlike and curling his toes. Yassen mentally counted two more minutes before he would restrain the boy.

Yassen secured the handcuffs around the boy's left wrist, subtly taking his pulse rate to determine the speed of the drug, Alex started to groan in irritation. Yassen clicked the other end of the handcuff around the air conditioner unit. The machine clicked, holding firm to the wall through the thick plumbing pipe used to cool the radiator.

“Is this _really _necessary?” Alex protested, weakly tugging on his arm. Tight, secure. Even breaking or dislocating his thumb would not free him from the wall. For extra measure, Yassen shifted Alex’s ratty shoes further out of his reach.

Ten minutes, just to acquire new clothing for the boy, new shoes, and perhaps a disposable phone to call about future hotel reservations or rail times.

* * *

Yassen had never once in his life been mistaken for someone else unless he wanted to be.

This was a first. He had to admit, he wasn’t entirely sure how to go about this situation.

The two police officers were incredibly apologetic the moment they shouted at Yassen to stop- quickly flipping once they realized that Yassen was _not _their target. A wanted individual who had been robbing banks in Eastern London.

“It’s fine,” Yassen tried to assure them, picking up the smallest shift of casual cockney to try and loosen the worries of the police officers even more. “Be on my way now, yeah?”

The one officer continued to apologize, over and over while his partner nodded. Yassen was very aware of the CTV camera on the edge of the nearest department store, likely recording the entire interaction.

The officers waved him on, wishing him a good day. Yassen smiled and kept his walk, already knowing he was compromised.

Of all things, _bank robbery. _**SCORPIA** considered such activities as _amateur. _Yassen would stab his foot before he ever felt the need to rob something so...petty.

Yassen acquired a disposable phone and managed to find a pair of shoes on discount that would loosely fit the boy before the police had ruined things. The shoes the child wore were in worse condition than Yassen thought. They nearly disintegrated in some portions although the soles remained good. Remarkable how the child could climb so capably.

Yassen turned the corner, staying a uniform distance from the small hotel housing Alex’s drugged state. Yassen heard sirens in the distance, cutting off very quickly. Yassen estimated four kilometers away. They knew then, and they were closing in.

He could leave the child but restrained the boy would die quickly due to dehydration. If he anonymously called to the hotel, the police would gain custody of the child who then would be of use to MI6. The boy had been adamant in his disdain for the organization, which limited what precisely Yassen could do.

There was a car following Yassen, slow and disguised as tourists with bulky cameras. The car was not wavering on the road, staying affixed in its lane. Foreign tourists tended to drift towards the median, too accustomed to drive on the opposite side.

A jogger paused on the corner two blocks up, resting against the crosswalk light while stretching. The jogger did not appear exhausted- no flushing along his neck or throat to correlate with the heaving of his chest.

Yassen turned sharply down the nearest left alley. He needed to get out of sight.

Shouting, movement behind him. Yassen ran, careful to avoid metallic trash cans or subtle puddles that could splash in the direction of his escape. He could hear individuals in pursuit, spitting out low words that meant nothing to Yassen.

He had no gun, nothing that could operate as a distance weapon. Using the disposable phone to call in an artificial bomb threat would divert police forces, or work as a distraction to traffic if MI6 were utilizing the major routes of transportation. Yassen should have shortened the conversation with the police officers, limited the view they had of his face.

“Freeze!”

Yassen ignored the shout, wriggling into the nearest inlet formed in the brick from a chimney. He twisted, spreading his limbs to spider crawl as quickly as he could upwards. His palms burned, wrist popping under the sudden movement. His three pursuers shouted to one another, clearly catching sight.

“Freeze! You’re wanted by-.”

Yassen heard a horrible grinding noise, of metal tearing. He hauled himself up over the edge of the rooftop, slipping slightly on the old tin.

Across the alley on the adjacent rooftop, a metal reservoir perched near a small garden. The water tank, normally exposed to the open air to accept rainwater, had closed and latched its top door.

“Oh dear,” Alex said, swinging his legs casually on the adjacent rooftop peering down into the tiny alley with the three MI6 agents. “Well, they look a bit hotheaded.”

Alex yawned slightly, stretching his arms behind his head. All fingers were normal, no handcuff dangling from a pale wrist.

The water tank screeched again, it’s single support buckling under the weight. It started to topple into the alleyway.

The agents shouted, screaming and rushing towards the exit. Alex may have said something, but it was drowned under the rattling noise of metal exploding and a tanker worth of water washing through the alley.

Alex snickered, wiping his hands on his pants. He spotted the shoes hanging from Yassen’s side, physically perking up.

“Oh! Are those for me?” Alex asked, jogging his way around the watery crevice between them until he could leap from one roof junction to Yassen’s. “Oh sweet, nice tread on them.”

Yassen’s eyes flashed to Alex’s wrist, where not even a bruise had formed. “You escaped.”

“Yep,” Alex said, plopping down to trade shoes. “Tore out the radiator.”

“What.”

“Not like it’s _that _hard,” Alex defended quickly. “It only has drywall screws most times, so I just kicked it out and then used one of your knife things to snap open the cuffs and found you. Good thing too looked like those idiots really don’t like you. Did you defect?”

Yassen accepted Alex’s old shoes, stripping them of their laces. “You have my weapons?”

“You didn’t hide them well,” Alex shrugged, pointing over to the rooftop garden he had claimed. Near a planter of string beans, a shapeless black mass of fabric rested.

“Oh, also, _really _nice vest,” Alex commented, casually leading the path. Yassen didn’t need it, but he’d allow the boy to indulge him.

“What’s the fabric? I’ve seen it before but never knew.”

Yassen took a moment to process. This boy, a _street rat, _had somehow encountered high-level ballistic armor. Better than Kevlar, much more difficult to manufacture as well. “Ballistic armor.”

“Huh,” Alex said, then quietly shut down.

Yassen checked and pulled open everything Alex had smuggled out of the room.

All his knives, his two guns. His holsters, combat equipment, even his computer and phone which he had _hidden._

He cast one questioning glance to Alex, who just shrugged.

The boy managed to exceed in areas Yassen hadn’t ever considered. Trained in martial arts, knowing information on MI6 that potentially **SCORPIA **didn’t know. Aiding Yassen in a _pursuit scenario. _

“Alex,” Yassen asked, allowing his voice to teeter upwards ever so slightly as he revealed his minute wonder. “Are you capable of stealing vehicles?”

“Sure!” Alex responded instantly, perking up delighted at the attention. He had expected scolding, perhaps even a violent response. “I thought you said you had a car?”

“Not anymore.”

“Oh it happens,” Alex agreed knowingly. “Any preference?”

How long had the child been on his own?

* * *

“So, I should probably mention that I _am _technically a runaway,” Alex said four hours into their slow backcountry drive. MI6 had a loose suspicion he was in London. The reason why only three agents had been sent to his position. It should have been a complete combat unit to arrest him.

“I just mean, since you _are _driving me around…” Alex said, gesturing wildly from where he sprawled in the passenger seat. “That means that now, you _are _a kidnapper.”

Yassen ignored him, guiding the old diesel engine along the old English countryside.

“So, whatever you’re wanted for, _now _I guess you aren’t allowed to get close to public schools. Fun fact of the day right there.”

Yassen said nothing. Alex sighed, sinking down in his chair until his head rested below the elevation of his knees. At least he was wearing a seatbelt.

“Where are we _going?” _Alex asked, catching sight of the setting sun and the rapid chill that England gained towards dusk. “And if you just say _‘East’ _in that grumbly voice, I’ll hate you.”

“East,” Yassen said.

“See, that right there. Can’t you give me a city? Even a fake city! Something to look forward to!”

Yassen did not roll his eyes. “Norwich.”

Alex beamed, looking delighted. He nearly pounced at the glovebox, finding an old map to unfold. It took up nearly the entire front seat as he fumbled with it, folding away the unnecessary parts of Knottingham and Cardiff until only the eastern trek remained.

Yassen genuinely hadn’t imagined the boy to recall their exact route, not when Yassen avoided major freeways with an uncanny ability. They drove on old dirt roads, single-lane roads, or old stone villages with a single gas pump manned by a single mother. Alex traced the route, mouthing the names of roads as he learned them for the first time. Some roads weren't even drawn, in which case Alex would imagine them and trace it with his finger.

The boy was...exceptional.

“So, you never said,” Alex’s voice dropped into a serious note. “Why does MI6 want you too?”

Yassen kept driving, keeping his eyes open for any cattle or sheep that ran loose from their pens. “A conflict of interest.”

Alex lifted his chin ever so slightly. “You seem interested in me.”

“Truthfully,” Yassen said. “I had no interest in you until you continued to evade me.”

Alex jerked his head around, staring with wide eyes at Yassen. Yassen refused to look over, not wanting to identify whatever would be on the boy's face.

“Really?” Alex asked, demanding really. “You have no idea who I am? None? It was just- it was just that I kept running away? You don’t care about me?”

“I am curious about how you seem so experienced.”

“Oh, that.”

They drove in silence. Alex slowly folded the map when it became too dark to follow the faintest lines.

“I had a... some family,” Alex said, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. The seatbelt cut in under his jaw. “They died or got deported. They tried to get me too, so I ran.”

Yassen nodded slightly. That was common. The death of an agent would cause unrest within a family, often the living kin would find themselves far too knowing of secret operations. They were dealt with accordingly. Alex it appeared was a loose end, still wanted.

“I work for an employer independent of MI6,” Yassen said flatly. “They disprove of foreign operations.”

Alex huffed a small sound, leaning on his chin as he stared out the window. Yassen could see his reflection, wide eyes and gaunt cheeks. Young, tired and aware of things he should not be. “Yeah, Blunt’s a bit of a dick.”

Yassen didn’t smile, but he made sure that Alex knew he agreed.

Yassen drove through the night, pausing only to refill petrol. His phone, normally on silent, came alive in the shadow of a country road.

He updated his situation- MI6 exerting pressure, determined his location is within London. Will arrive in Waxham before dawn, vehicle assigned as scrap or repurposed.

He paused before he sent one more command through the secure link: _Token acquired._

* * *

Alex squinted, crossing his arms against his chest to protect himself somewhat from the salty sea air. “So, that right there- yes, _right there, _is the ugliest otter I have _ever _seen.”

Yassen almost sighed. “Alex, that is a seal.”

“Ah,” Alex mused. “I see...fur and... blubber?”

“No Alex, whales have blubber.”

Alex squinted at the seal. It barked.

The other man, the one in standard fishing gear and a warm wool cap, looked at Yassen incredulously. Yassen kept his face flat, watching the boy as he slowly approached a large baffled seal.

“Are you _sure, _sir?” the man asked in a hushed voice, clearing his throat quickly at Yassen’s icy glare.

Alex inched closer, extending one hand to the animal. It barked at him, flailing its webbed limbs. Alex shifted right out of harm's way, laughing in delight and awe over the massive animal. There was something innocent about it, childish and curious despite the overlaying experience and jaded edges.

“Yes,” Yassen said. He blinked against the slight sting of salty air. “What information has been provided?”

The man twitched slightly.

“There are currently three operatives in Great Britain at this time, excluding yourself. No traffic through this port for two years, as per standard. Once you contacted, I was forwarded a missive via wishes of the board for you…”

Yassen frowned. “Wishes of the board?”

“Ms. Rothman, sir.”

_Nile. _“Contents?’

“A summons, sir. An inquiry assignment for information. I believe you were requested for confirmation.”

That was odd. Incredibly unusual, to request Yassen when Nile was already present. Two high ranking individuals usually presented as a trap when requested by a customer. To request Yassen _from _Nile meant it was genuine, but still an unusual circumstance.

“Understood,” Yassen agreed. He would get more information sent directly to him once everything was en-route. “What transportation?”

“I have a boat already set to go,” the man said nervously. “I ah, heard the missive you sent about the...boy. All supplies and materials are on board. I don’t have any...gear that would fit him-.”

“Leave it,” Yassen said. “Alex!”

Alex swung around, sand sticking to his trouser legs and new shoes. He was beaming, looking delighted with bright eyes and wind-whipped skin. He looked familiar to Yassen, in the way that dreams sometimes did.

Alex waved, standing amidst a cluster of perplexed Grey seals.

“Yeah?” Alex shouted, running over with a grin. The boy had been trapped in the city for too long. “Oh, hey. You a friend of his?”

The **SCORPIA** employee balked, eyes jerking quickly back and forth between Alex and Yassen. Alex looked amused, stretching his arms before rolling his eyes and brushing past.

Yassen’s lips twitched ever so slightly. “Alex.”

Alex paused, groaning in disappointment. He turned around, glumly holding out his hand with his prize. He offered a cellphone and a stick of gum.

“Oh, wait no,” Alex muttered, sneaking the bubblegum back. “I want this one.”

The employee looked dazed, frantically smacking his pockets even as he saw his own belongings in Alex’s hand. 

_“Bloody hell,” _the man whispered in awe, taking the phone back carefully.

“Have a good day!” Alex chirped. “Where are we going? North? I’ve never been to Orkney-.”

“No,” Yassen cut him off quickly.

He led the path, down a winding wood walkway built into one of the many stone coves of the harbor town. “We’re heading to Belgium.”

Alex slowed his walk until his shoes scuffed the stairwell He stood solidly against the cliff. His hair flopped about, taken with the ocean breeze.

His eyes were so bright, deceptively familiar.

“Oh,” Alex hesitated. He chewed his lower lip, scabbing and chapped. He was dehydrated.

“I didn’t know we were leaving the country.”

“Is that a problem?”

Alex looked down, flickering his eyes to the sea. His hands curled around the wooden railings, thin and bony at the knuckles.

“I didn’t realize we’d be leaving so soon,” Alex said. “I... I have a f-.”

Alex cut off his words, slowly closing his mouth as some sort of realization sunk in and hit him much harder than he expected.

He staggered, so shocked and wounded Yassen considered a physical blow of some sort.

_“Oh,” _Alex breathed pained. “Oh, I’ve been an idiot. They’re never going to stop hunting me, are they? I’ve never been..._good. _I’ve never been sneaky or that amazing at hiding at all. I was just lucky.

“They hadn’t been looking for me at all, were they? MI6 didn’t bother looking at me and I’ve been fine because of _luck!”_

Yassen closed his eyes and breathed with the pull of the tide.

“Yes.”

Alex nodded, accepting it calmly until he faced the water and opened his mouth.

Then Alex began to scream.

* * *

Yassen set the ship to order, starting the motor and assuring that everything worked properly. Alex scoffed at the size of the vessel, rubbing his red-rimmed eyes and flushed face.

“You steal this one too?” Alex asked, dejectedly shuffling towards the side of the captain's deck.

Yassen ignored him, testing the depth finder and reviewing the programmed route from **SCORPIA **direct.

They would be heading to Antwerp, Belgium. Crossing the ocean, moving into the harbor before a direct flight would take them to..._the Alps. _

No, the plane would take them to Grenoble. From there, Yassen would pilot a helicopter just North to an unfamiliar location of _Point Blanc, _White Point, where Nile waited for him.

At least it was in a more…lenient global area compared to the United Kingdom.

Alex flopped into the first mate’s chair, looking peeved and wounded by the betrayal of MI6. Yassen couldn’t imagine it, but it had impacted the boy so severely it may be something of use.

“Alex,” Yassen said, stepping aside as the computer ran through one more pre-departure check. “I contacted ahead. This vessel has all facilities for you, including sufficient clothing if you so wish.”

Alex ignored his words. Alex turned back to the dashboard, eyes flickering to the flashing lights. “The radio contacts your organization?”

“Through complex avenues.”

Alex looked intrigued, also slightly annoyed. “Good to see the technology is _possible.”_

_Ah, he’s been alone._

“Can we go to America eventually?” Alex asked him, firm and serious. “I need to find people.”

“Your relatives,” Yassen said. “There is a possibility that MI6 may have lied to you and removed them instead.”

Alex’s expression didn’t change. He said: “I know.”

The boat chimed, alerting Yassen that all departure requirements had finished. They were ready to leave.

Yassen shifted the throttle into idle, progressing the motor until they could leave the harbor. Its thick hull broke waves, splitting the ocean into black glass behind them.

Alex gazed at the ocean fascinated. He ran down the stairs to the stern where his home country slowly faded behind them in hazy greens.

The boat moved well, accustomed to seafaring journeys. The route they took was secluded, isolated except for main shipping channels that **SCORPIA** already tracked to assure no interference.

Alex seemed mystified, relaxed and fearless in the presence of the great unknown. He was either brave or incredibly stupid.

“Come here,” Yassen beckoned, pulling aside the unmarked metal case that the **SCORPIA** agent hastily loaded before they arrived.

“What’s that?” Alex asked, already plopping into what he claimed as his chair.

Yassen opened the latches and took out the complex machinery. He plugged it into the computer. A new window opened, data scrolling as Yassen entered his own personal code and the twenty-nine-number password, with the necessary fingerprint scanner. He would have to personally confirm within two days, else all data would be considered a breach and destroyed.

“It’s information programming,” Yassen said. “My organization recruits members through three mechanisms.

“Individuals can apply to the educational facility in which they are trained, working after graduation to pay their debts.

“Other members may be recruited based on their occupancy within the functional world, however, they hold no benefits or acquire resources from my organization.”

“Professional outsourcing,” Alex summarized with a sharp eye. “And operatives.”

Yassen gave him a very small expression that made Alex light up in delight. Alex asked: “What’s the last one then?”

“Sponsorship. Operatives interact with the real world when on missions. On occasion, individuals within society with placements, skills, or opportunities appeal to my organization.

“The operative may choose to sponsor the individual, taking a percentage of their pay, their commendations, and their schedule. In turn, the sponsored individual is inducted into my organization under the direct supervision of the sponsor.”

“What happens if the sponsor dies?” Alex asked, sharp and quick.

_Clever boy. _“The individual is placed with another sponsor by my organization.”

Alex chewed his lip ever so slightly. “And you...want me for that?”

“It is the most convenient method in which to bring you with me.”

“Because you're on secret missions, right.”

Alex looked down at his hands, fiddling with them. It was easy to see his difficulty. He had spent extensive time constantly eluding one organization after they had apparently blackmailed and manipulated him, only to run right into another. “Would you ever get rid of me?”

“If you compromise my mission, yes,” Yassen said.

“Good, I hate it when people lie to me. What’s the name of your organization?”

Yassen watched the boy for every cue that he knew more than he should. “**SCORPIA**.”

Nothing.

“Cool, sounds like Scorpion,” Alex muttered, swinging his legs back and forth. “This...it would really piss off MI6 if I did this...right?”

“Undoubtedly.”

“Okay then, sure why not,” Alex said. He gave a single burst of laughter, looking alarmed but also a bit pleased with himself.

“Okay...sure. What do I need to do? Sell my soul?”

“Just basic information for now,” Yassen said, mouth twitching ever so slightly again. “Your profile will be completed at a secure server, as well as a complete medical examination.”

Alex recoiled, slightly overwhelmed. “I get health care?”

“Yes,” Yassen said. “Dental and psychiatric aid upon request.”

Alex gaped. “I get _dental.”_

Yassen ignored his stunned confusion. The forms had finally finished, running with all necessary areas to be filled for the acquisition of a token. “Name.”

“Alex,” the boy said.

Yassen blinked once. He would not ask any questions.

Alex relieved once he realized Yassen accepted that as it was and moved on to the rest of the information. Some of it would change once he was given his medical evaluation; the rest was rough approximation due to the fact Yassen was going directly into another operation immediately.

The information-gathering finished, the file was sent to **SCORPIA** headquarters. Yassen began filing in his own operative number.

“What's that part then?” Alex asked, peering over curiously.

“My information,” Yassen said. “Turn around and take off your shirt.”

“W- _why?”_

Yassen tapped the device once. “Information coding. Lowers the statistical likelihood of accidental torture and interrogation at **SCORPIA** hands.”

Alex blinked, opened his mouth, then closed it quickly. He gathered his words quickly: “So, an employee badge? But hidden? Because you’re all stealth.”

“Correct,” Yassen said. He loaded the apparatus as Alex tentatively stripped his shirt. Yassen gave no warning. Using both arms to position Alex’s left elbow into an outstretched side posture, his left shoulder blade flared and revealed the slight cavity in which the bone itself glided over in normal movement.

“Do not move,” Yassen warned, taking the stapler and injection chip out of the information loader.

Alex held still, twitching slightly but Yassen made sure his shoulder blade would not drop. A moment, then Yassen pierced skin, injected the centimeter large chip into the tissue, and stapled it closed. Alex winced, arm reflexively trembling at the pain of it.

“That’s it? All done?” Alex asked. His left arm jerked a bit as he struggled to find a comfortable posture. “No more stabbing me?”

“No more stabbing,” Yassen confirmed, double-checking the autopilot was on the correct path.

“You are now under my registration.”

* * *

They stayed inside Antwerp for no more than an hour before Yassen relocated onto a private jet. Alex followed obediently, never straying too far from Yassen’s side.

There was a talent to it, a learned skill to stay in the shadow of an adult and never be noticed.

The MI6 agent that supposedly died must have taught Alex an assortment of things. Useful. Yassen would not have to start from scratch.

The jet left immediately upon their arrival. Alex had barely settled into his seat and buckled up before they were on the runway awaiting takeoff. Yassen paid it no mind, already knowing from the mission briefing that Nile had set up the transportation route ahead of time. Yassen wouldn’t have to pilot until they landed, and then only for a short way.

“So what sort of mission is this?” Alex asked him, barely containing his excitement and delight. “Information you said?”

The cabin they sat in remained empty. Only the pilot and the second occupied the plane with them. It was unlikely anyone could overhear them with the roar of the turbines. They were in safe quarters.

“I am meeting another operative. Information must be confirmed, and I am requested.”

Alex hummed, seeming content with that amount. He stayed quiet, curling up in his chair and dozing contently.

They landed smoothly, and operatives boarded fast. Shuffling back and forth with waiting staff to unload various goods and supplies. Minor technology for infiltration, bugs, and wires. Alex ignored them, and they ignored him.

Yassen had never wanted a token. He always considered them a waste of time and resources.

This boy arrived already trained, intelligent, and surprisingly sharp. He would be very useful once properly experienced with firearms and other means of combat.

Alex didn't seem surprised when Yassen turned on the helicopter, running through its own sets of information and pre-flight checks. A woman rushed over, hauling a trolley with various types of clothing on the shelves. Alex was keenly aware that he was wearing the same clothes given to him back in England.

“Cossack, sir,” she said, supplying a thicker winter coat that Yassen accepted instantly.

Alex recognized the term as a code name and opted to stay quiet. Alex found something in his size, likely purchased ahead of time based on the information Yassen sent.

They lifted off the ground, adjusting for altitude changes and other measures Alex didn’t know.

They climbed, soaring high over the French Alps as they ventured towards a destination Alex didn’t know.

“Should I know French?” Alex asked, looking at the various snowy mountain peaks.

“Do you?”

“Fluent, but should I?”

Yassen gave a short nod, flipping more switches that did something to the tail rudders. Alex could feel his ears begin to crackle and pop as the air density challenged the inner pressure of his ears.

“This is _Point Blanc_,” Yassen introduced, shifting to a French accent. Alex gave him an odd look for a moment before he nodded slowly. “We are meeting an operative called Nile.”

“Does he know about me?”

“Likely. It’s not important.”

The building they approached looked like it was made by the world’s worst architect. Alex couldn’t imagine any construction team agreeing to such plans unless it were to make a facility for some unknown reason. A bunker, a military outpost, perhaps even a political warehouse of some sort. A far cry from the artistic masonry and carved moldings of London.

The building rested hidden within the Alps, relying entirely on the environment to compensate for its appearance. Alex imagined the man who designed this building likely had been shot.

There were spires poking upwards, all various lengths and altitudes that looked chaotic and unplanned. Towers and battlements made for efficiency, not for occupation.

Yassen guided the helicopter smoothly over the building, serving as a second purpose to gain a general idea of the layout. A circular central atrium with two wings of asymmetric length. Four floors high with crude windows at different heights. Maybe no architecture had been involved in the first place.

Alex noted Yassen’s eyes flickering widely over the building, lingering on a few spires that quickly rose above them in their careful descent. They saw no living people, which was to be expected with the freezing temperatures.

They landed professionally, Yassen taking a few moments to flip off a collection of switches and dials Alex knew nothing about. With one hand, Yassen motioned to remove his helmet, careful of the wires and straps.

“Stay close,” Yassen ordered without looking. He demanded obedience at Alex had no intention of wandering off. “Do not speak. This is a formal operation and any information given will be marked as treason.”

“Got it,” Alex nodded, squinting out over the mountains.

“Don’t say anything important, try not to piss anyone off. Is that a ski jump? This place is for skiing?”

Yassen knew the question was rhetoric. The ghastly design of the building in no way or form could be interpreted as an Olympic training facility.

The helicopter blades slowly crept to a standstill, Yassen ignored them as he operated the multiple levers to open the reinforced cabin. Alex should have realized that helicopters could be bulletproof like cars.

They climbed out, walking over the sad-looking helipad before entering a metal door on the side of one of the towers. Yassen descended first down a narrow spiral staircase, giving Alex the illusion that the staircase had been built competent for once and _not _as crappy as the building. Alex almost tripped over one step a fair ten centimeters further down than the one prior.

The building was silent.

Alex did his best to walk silently, but the SCORPIA agent hadn’t given him exactly soundless shoes. Yassen had something that looked well worn, standard or maybe preferred for his operations. Agents _loved _wearing familiar shoes.

The heating had been turned on high, clearly a forced central air because the difference between cold and hot air swirled across Alex’s cheek and made everything feel muggy.

They walked, crossing near a set of thick clear acrylic doors. Alex would have imagined glass if not for how sharp the temperature change was. Glass would explode.

They set off across a courtyard, back into snow and invasive chill. Yassen didn’t pause, Alex kept as best in stride as he could.

Movement up above- Alex glanced up and spotted what appeared to be a male sentry staring at them through a set of binoculars. Alex looked back down as subtly as he could, pretending he didn’t see the muzzle of a gun protruding past the man’s thigh. “Yassen-.”

“I know,” Yassen said with barely more than a breath. Alex doubted the man’s mouth even moved.

They walked through another set of doors. Alex managed to slip in so close to Yassen’s stride he managed to slink right through without getting hit. He would have been impressed by his catlike maneuver if not for how Yassen shifted his ankle just enough to click into Alex’s calf, adjusting him further to one side. Know-it-all.

They stood in what appeared to be the main reception hall of the building.

A shocking contrast to the rest of the building so far; a bright cheery log fire burning in a massive fireplace with two stone dragons arching on either side. The first reminder of London masonry and one of the dragons had a chipped toe.

A massive chandelier hung with maybe a hundred light bulbs, all bright and burning so much heat it may be helping more than the fire was.

From atop the grand staircase with thick red carpet, a man appeared in a light jog; one of the security details, thankfully without a gun. He took one look at Yassen and Alex before he paled and swallowed visibly from across the room.

“We- we hadn’t anticipated your arrival so soon, sir,” the man said, curling his gloved hands into tight fists. “Just...just this way.”

Yassen started walking, Alex fell immediately in stride with matching steps. They hurried down another hallway, this one decorated with decapitated animal heads mounted onto the wood paneling.

Alex dearly wished he could talk, because _what the hell?_

They walked, the guide acted like a lost child since Yassen ignored him entirely and took point position. Alex fell into step, mentally delighted that a man with an automatic rifle was being overpowered by him. Take that, douche.

Yassen came to a standstill in front of an impressive door, he knocked once, then entered without any confirmation. Alex followed, half-obscured behind the dark winter wear Yassen still had on.

Alex’s clothes in comparison stuck out like a sore thumb. Bold and bright with an obvious winter brand. Alex itched for something more...incognito, something muted colors that at least disguised him better than bright orange.

“Ah, hello,” the man behind the desk said. He smiled, standing carefully to outstretch one arm politely. Yassen did not take it.

Yassen kept his hands folded behind his back and his body language still. Alex evaluated the man as quickly as he could. He was ugly- was it a requirement to be in proximity to the building?

“I expected you later in the evening, I understand you came a great distance,” the man smiled although his voice failed to convey any warmth in it. Alex knew enough about mad strangers, the ones likely to act polite before they kicked out your knees and took everything you had. This man was slimy and cruel, and Alex instantly hated him on sight.

“Formal operations are not delayed for any circumstances,” Yassen said. He spoke equally flat and cold, but somehow still seemed more genuine than this disgusting man.

“Are you aware of the inquiry procedure?”

The man nodded, blinking slowly and indulgently. He waved his hands toward the fireplace where he had three chairs set out upon a zebra rug. Alex itched to avoid sitting down to face this man. Yassen somehow knew this. He didn’t move the slightest.

“No?” the man said, sighing slightly as if disappointed. “I understand. Please do be generous to our other students; they come from families of great importance. Interactions are harmful to their education.”

“Obstacles to a formal operation will be removed. Failure to comply is not the responsibility of **SCORPIA**.”

“Of course, we wouldn’t dare impede in any way with your little..._quest,” _the man nodded politely. 

Alex wanted to punch his face, maybe repeatedly. Force some color into his white cheeks, maybe break a tooth or two just for fun.

“Although, I must confess...your..._agent _failed to find anything of worry. Maybe **SCORPIA** should send more qualified agents the first time to avoid this...referral? I’m sure you’re a busy man.”

Two teeth. Maybe his nose. Alex would let Yassen kick a rib if he wanted.

“The third and fourth floors are restricted to our students here. We have already accommodated your representative from **SCORPIA** on the third floor. An escort will show you. Your things have been brought to the room already-.”

Alex didn’t breathe. He had recalled **SCORPIA** agents loading things into the helicopter, but not any sort of heavy weaponry like what the guards appeared to have. Did Yassen have experience with automatic rifles?

When Alex had found his things before (all in Ian’s preferred hiding spots) he only had a few handguns and knives. Nothing elaborate, no broken-down rifle.

Alex knew he could steal, but he didn’t know how to steal an automatic_ rifle_.

The man stopped talking, waving one arm. Yassen looked over his shoulder with a blank look that spoke volumes to Alex. A woman appeared towards the doors, waiting patiently. Another guard.

Yassen’s foot twitched ever so slightly, as little as shifting his weight. He had done similar when correcting Alex’s posture while slipping in behind a door- _oh._

Alex turned, trying to still the quick thrum in his throat. He would be on his own here, but he was under Yassen’s protection...right?

“This way,” the woman said. She had her arms at her side, face pinched in annoyance but still polite. They were all so painfully polite. It was setting Alex’s hair on end.

Alex walked, nearly tripping once on the ridiculous shag carpet. If he didn’t know any better, the setting would be akin to a cheap horror movie. Something he once watched with Ian in Italian with subtitles on, arguing grammatical tenses while Jack threw popcorn every time one of them stood up in their argument. He wondered if Jack was doing okay.

“This is the third-floor stairwell,” the woman nodded towards a staircase that looked (thankfully) more industrially sound than the helicopter pad. The third floor didn’t have any better decor, which both upset Alex’s inner interior designer and delighted him to see that the man in charge was truly- that bad at aesthetics.

He wondered if it was for show, but no, he genuinely thought a flamingo leg candlestick looked good. Yassen needed to put him out of his misery soon.

“This is your room, the key is here,” the woman said, pulling out an old-fashioned keychain with an antique golden key. Wonderful, old locks were the easiest to pick with the single inner mechanism. Yassen was going to have an aneurism.

The woman didn’t wait for him, for which Alex subtly flicked her off and opened the door. It smelled like dust and Lysol pine cleaner and Alex regretted not getting his immunizations.

Could that rusty edge of the mirror give him hepatitis? Possibly.

“Great,” Alex said. He peeled off the winter coat, tossing it onto one of the plush double beds. The comforter looked like red velvet. Maybe the director was colorblind?

Alex kicked off his boots, then thought better of it and put them back on slightly looser. If Yassen got himself into another stupid situation, he’d need to chase after and save his scrawny ass again.

This time, Alex doubted there was a convenient water tank nearby.

What _was _there? He could _maybe _snap one of the posts on the footboard of the beds, but it was weirdly shaped and some sort of African wood he didn’t know the density of. The mirror could turn into a knife if he smashed it, but that would be loud enough to alert _someone._

Yassen was a spy, an agent. It was _obvious _he’d have weapons. The easiest way to hide something was to place the expected thing in plain sight. A location so clear but slightly hidden, that the smuggled objects would be overlooked instantly. At least, Ian mentioned it and Alex always failed to figure out where his uncle kept hiding the spare key even with the hints.

The **SCORPIA** bags were set at the base of the two beds, separated across. Another day, Alex would examine how unsettling it felt to know an organization knew his trouser size.

In his bag, he found spare clothing and supplies. Some padding, basic armor that came in one-size-fits-all. If they had somehow gotten Alex one of Yassen’s nice body armor, well, _maybe _he could overlook the creep factor.

_‘Look under the obvious,’ _Ian always told him. That meant that there was something _obvious _placed as a decoy. He dug, feeling along the hem and seam lines. He felt every bit of clothing, digging his broken nails into ever crack before he pulled out his makeshift armory. Four lockpicks, two...listening bugs maybe? A spring-loaded switchblade hidden in the heel of one of his shoes, and a wire contraption he had no idea what it was. He wasn’t going anywhere _near _Yassen’s bag.

_‘I’m already looking under the obvious,’ _Alex thought, plopping onto the bed next to his jacket. _‘Yassen obviously has guns on him. Where else would there be a weapon?’_

Alex paused, then slowly looked at the coat. Which had been given to him? By one of Yassen’s _agents._

“Oh please give me something,” Alex muttered to himself. He flipped it inside out, tracing fingers along the seam lines and tugging on stitches to test the strength. Industrial nylon wire instead of cotton thread- Ian would ever get him with _that _one again.

Some of the inner mesh for his coat looked odd. Reflective where Alex couldn’t fathom why. He reached over, pulling the chain on the bedside table lamp to better see. The inner mesh _was _strange, clear and stretchy in patches. Alex tugged it, pulling in various points before something gave and it unraveled in his fingers silkily.

_‘This is what we’re talking about,’ _Alex thought, grinning wide as he coiled up whatever weird thread (wire?) he had. He unraveled it, pulling with all his strength to try and determine its weight capacity. His hands stung as the wire cut through skin and started to prick his capillary layer.

Where else? The seam of his jacket had nothing obvious with it, no sewn in lump. The hood also lacked anything. The zipper had normal teeth, paracord ties to the handles for the zip-.

_Oh, _the rubber nibs. Alex wriggled them free, revealing something small and electric and _clearly _fit his mental picture of what a ‘spy bug’ was. Much nicer than the electrical abomination over in his discard pile.

He found a knife in his decoy shoes. Tugging and prodding along the bottom of the winter boots he wore produced nothing. Maybe he had to click his heels or do a weird twist to make a spike pop out. He could make do with a silver lasso of sleuth.

Afterall, Yassen wouldn’t _know _Alex left if he managed back in time.

Yassen would be pleased if Alex managed to stick one of the bugs in the lion’s mane on the first floor. Maybe if he was sneaky, he could get it lodged in the poor zebra’s head in the creep’s office.

_‘Welcome,’ _Alex thought to himself with the smallest quirk of a smile. _‘To SCORPIA.’_


	2. Part 2

Yassen retreated from Doctor Grief’s office at the earliest opportunity. He withdrew near instantly from the occasional guards on patrol, painstakingly vanishing out of sight while he crept towards Nile’s last known whereabouts.

Yassen had received detailed information as to where precisely the operative had housed his things when they still maintained radio contact.

The...situational information provided had been minimal. What Grief alluded to only created more questions, and even fewer theories. Everything about the situation brushed wrongly against Yassen’s instincts, prodding him sharply and demanding an unknown action.

The environment felt odd. Too large and constrained. Somehow the hallways gave the impression of walking through the esophagus of some larger-than-earth creature. It displayed wealth and riches with little organizational skill. Yassen nearly checked for a half feral poodle to chase him around the antique showcases.

Yassen cared little for Doctor Grief and his taste in self-importance. Or the suffocating traction of the red shag carpet.

Nile stated he had taken control of an office, vacated by the previous owners. He hid his information there; his false trail and decoy documentation that Grief assumedly spied upon. Nile would relocate to a secure location (likely outside) and brief him on the information...

Yassen had no escorts through the hallways, only the distasteful animal heads mounted as trophies. Familiar things, animals Yassen may have found kinship or peace with- shot between the eyes. Grief knew nothing of hunting.

Nile’s room existed in the labyrinth of corners and hallways. Behind wood paneling and fireproof asbestos insulation. Yassen found the room, knocked once before entering as per usual.

Nile heard his approach. The agent rested calmly against the far wall. His eyes closed and relaxed in the flickering light of the electric lamp. The room was not nice or homely. It served its purpose.

“You got here fast,” Nile said in a low drawl. He was unsettled, uncomfortable somehow. It was possible he simply dreading the talk. What had he found that invoked such a response?

“It appeared a pressing matter,” Yassen said, stepping to the side as Nile sauntered past. Nile’s knives clicked slightly from the unnecessarily obvious combat belt slung across his hips. Blatant intimidation, more throwing blades than any mission required. One day, Nile would find himself at the end of one of his blades.

They walked. Nile guided him towards a spiraling staircase disguised as a closet. They ascended upwards, breaking through a latch top roof to a precariously railed rooftop. The hinges groaned in protest. Dust rained down so thick it could smother.

“I already swept, it’s clean,” Nile said once horizontal. Nile walked to the thick metal railing, hopping on top of its surface. It buckled slightly, wavering from its century-old brackets before stilling. “Fancy seeing you in an eyesore like this,” Nile said with a sideways grin. His fingers twitched anxiously against his thigh.

“You requested my perspective.”

“Skip right past the greetings, just like normal. Thanks for getting here fast, any longer and I’d be shoving a knife up _that _man’s ass and mounting _his _head on a wall. The carpet is so tacky I want to set this whole place on fire but the-.”

“Asbestos insulation,” Yassen remarked dryly.

Nile snapped his fingers, pointing sadly. “I know. The _damn _asbestos. You know, people should really do something about that.”

Nile looked well, healthy in all senses. No wounds or injuries. No stress lines in the small tells he never could eradicate. He did his best to disguise the pull in his neck, arching it upwards in that perplexed pondering frown he always had. He looked…well, but troubled.

“Seriously, thanks for coming. The situation here is...odd.”

Yassen’s mind sharpened and his body relaxed in preparation for the unexpected. “Dangerous?”

“No no- I mean, the director here is an absolute creep,” Nile snorted. He waved one hand dismissively. “And I _know _creeps. If I had more time, I’d tear through this place and figure it out, but whatever slimy game Grief has going on, it has nothing to do with **SCORPIA**.”

Unexpected, confusing given Nile’s request.

“It’s…difficult to explain,” Nile winced, looking a little bit lost. “I don’t even know exactly what’s going on here. Believe it or not, I’m here at Director Rothman’s _request.”_

“A possible merger?”

“No, if anything she’ll want me to kill everyone in this building if it’s true,” Nile said. “She heard rumors a while ago, about a year I think from a few different sources all over. MI6 lost something of theirs.”

Roughly a year ago. Yassen had been on a mission, overseeing the biological weapon production and distribution. Sayle was the employer’s name. He had been trapped employed by that pest for the following year before given authorization to kill him.

Yassen nodded slowly and said: “I was on an operation in MI6’s locality. Where did the rumors stem from?”

Nile looked sympathetic. He stretched, fingers tapping against his knives and the dusting of snow drifting around them. “Well, not _exactly _a rumor given that I saw how your mission went. Apparently, after you removed MI6 operative Ian Rider from active duty, MI6 turned and tried to get custody of the kid. Director Rothman..._implied _that they went so far as forging a false will and everything. Gave custody to the organization.”

“No,” Yassen said. “A sane operative would not place a child within MI6 custody. Ian Rider was not invalid. He would not have…”

“I know, that’s why it’s extra fishy now since apparently a year ago the kid managed to escape. Drop off the radar. Suspected dead, or already in MI6 custody, I never knew or really cared. I wasn’t ever really close with…”

_Hunter, _he hadn’t been close with him. Yassen had been.

“_So, _imagine my surprise when Director Rothman heard some rumors that well, the kid was _found. _And he’s _here. _I came here to check it out, and no matter how I tackle the angle I haven’t found proof that Grief is lying either.

“ There _is _a kid here and running his profile against the public records of the kid, _and _the old scans we had of Hunter...well, there’s enough facial structure similarities to fool me over.”

Alex Rider. Hunter’s son. _Here._

“It feels almost _too _convenient from what I’ve seen, but all of the records are basically spotless,” Nile explained with a scowl. He turned to look out over the mountains, a rose flush spreading across his brow from the below-freezing air.

Nile kept talking. “The first thing I did was check the records they had available- basic things that people never think about. Blood type matches so does immunizations since I stuck him, and he hasn’t keeled over-.”

“Repeat that,” Yassen said. “You _infected _the boy?”

Nile looked a little shameful. “He’s _fine! _He’s far too perfect and has that angsty abandoned child persona perfectly. I think he’s faking, but well...my people skills normally involve more stabbing and less playing with kids.”

Nile swung his legs. He finally pulled one arm up so he balanced precisely on one thigh. He sighed, resting his chin on he lifted knee, letting arms droop casually despite the advanced display of muscle control. Somehow, he reminded Yassen of Alex curled up on a rooftop.

“Yassen, I didn’t want to bring you in unless there was a legitimate chance this kid was real. I don’t think he _is, _but I can’t find anything _wrong.”_

Yassen didn’t like this sort of situation. An entirely new operation, one he felt too close to. He would be biased, and hesitation would get him killed.

Nile was serious. He was young, experienced and drastically different in personality to Yassen himself. He was trained, an expert in his craft. His instinct rarely led him wrong- often proving sharper than even Yassen.

“You think he’s an imposter,” Yassen confirmed. “What proof do you have now?’

Nile’s mouth quirked slightly into a smile. A relieved light in his eye, recognizing that Yassen was taking this seriously.

“Very little. Some scars don’t line up with standard activities but are too faint and random to be suspicious. He’s ambidextrous but I don’t know-.”

“Hunter was ambidextrous.”

Yassen felt chilled, cold deep in his core. Overwhelmed with a slowly growing headache near the nape of his neck. He hadn’t anticipated running into Hunter’s child. He didn’t want to see him, not now. “Do you have photographs?”

“Yeah, Director Rothman sent them with me. I have all his school photos since primary. Some smaller things too from online, a classmate had a few pictures with him in the background. Candid. They all match.”

Yassen closed his eyes and slowly breathed. It would be so easy to agree with his instinct, with Nile’s intuition that something was _wrong. _

_But, _Yassen’s head thought from an iron cage he didn’t dare visit. _What if it is him? _

_What if it is Hunter’s child?_

Did Alex have his father’s eyes? The same cut of his jaw? The elusive dimple that would only appear when trying not to laugh?

_If he is here, then MI6 is hunting him._

“I have a token with me,” Yassen murmured with his eyes closed. “I have been led to suspect that MI6 has been recruiting children into operations.”

“You’re serious? Shit. _Shit.”_

“It is too obvious for our investigation. What devices do you have?”

Nile grimaced, blowing a raspberry into the air. He rubbed his nose in a swiping movement, tapping his thigh rapidly once more. He was very much unsettled.

“Not much, I hadn’t thought I’d be snooping around. Maybe two trackers, a motion detector, remote signal jammer but that’s all. Standard uniform bugs and data miners.”

Not perfect for an investigative mission, but not the worst. Yassen had operated on less.

“I have standard carryover from my previous mission. Four decoy bugs, eight D-series. Signal jammer and detector. Three firearms.”

“I’ve got the knives covered,” Nile said, jokingly referring to his pincushion outfit. “You know Grief will be watching us. We don’t have any secondary units to-.”

_Alex. _Yassen flashed open his eyes, body language sliding into something predatory. “I have a secondary unit.”

Nile frowned. “Yeah, your token. Speaking of which, what the _hell?”_

Yassen didn’t need Nile’s skepticism. Alex already exceeded expectations, his appearance and age would fit well with the other boys Yassen knew haunted the facility.

“You know the room assigned as my quarters?”

“Already swept it and cleared out cameras for you, no need to thank me,” Nile teased with a sharp grin. “Why? You going to do a perimeter sweep and get the feel of this clown house?”

Yassen didn’t bother responding, already he was hauling the roof access door open.

* * *

Alex walked into life looking to make a bad decision. It wasn’t that he _looked _for trouble, trouble naturally tended to find him in the meanest of circumstances. Nothing man makes is perfect, neither are his weapons.

By anticipating ahead of time that everything ultimately will go wrong, Alex managed to survive through complete utter insanity and quite a few nervous breakdowns. Then Ian smacked that out of him, demanded Alex never call him uncle again, and sent him off to primary school.

Alex knew to never trust when adults said, _‘You’re safe!’_

He never was, even when they tried to make him feel better. When an adult assured him things would be alright, a small part in his skull whispered to him: _‘let’s try this again.’_

Alex didn’t feel bad in the slightest when he started to dismantle the sink faucet. The water had been turned off through a shutoff valve along the pipe. There were plenty of other washrooms. Yassen had said that he would be safe.

_Let’s try this again._

It wasn’t the best weapon, but a bronze sink faucet and a metal hose would work as a modern mace. Blunt force bludgeon, he could maybe crack a skull if he had a good windup. Alex had survived _fine _on his own. Any adult who thought that he couldn’t last on his own…well, they’d get his mace to the face.

He set up what he needed to, using his winter boot and the small knife to shift the door hinges just enough that they’d squeak on entry.

Alex took up guard near the door. He paused long enough to grab one of the red velvet pillows and dress it in some of the spare clothing.

He wished he knew how to listen in on the bugs he planted. The one he hid in the lion’s mane just as he planned- right outside the director’s office. The other he settled for hiding in a cracked bit of stone in one of the dragons near the fireplace. Adults always like to talk near fireplaces for some ridiculous reason.

_There, now Yassen won’t keep me locked up._

He traced the heavy comfortable weight of the bronze faucet. Settled against the back of the door and rested in his vigil. Yassen said he’d be protected, but Yassen hadn’t lived in London as a fourteen-year-old boy.

_Let’s try this again._

The door was squeaking.

Alex stilled. He moved so slow he feared his joints would creak. He was exhaustingly thankful that he had decided to wait behind the door, clutching the metal hose a bit tighter. Nobody would surprise him.

The door swung open in a controlled movement, a low gruff noise and heavier footfall of a man. Not the lady who led Alex there.

A dark figure walked in, heading towards the bed while mumbling something in a scoff. Maybe French? Yassen _had _asked if Alex knew French.

Then Alex noticed the ridiculous number of knives. Slung across his body, a mockery of ammunition belts used to house dozens of metal blades. He shimmered slightly from the lamp-light.

Alex acted on impulse.

He leaped upright, hurled the pillow stuffed dummy directly at the intruder’s face and swung his mace high and hard. The sound of knives sliding out of metal sheathes sang like music. The man cursed low and vulgar, and Alex bashed his jaw with solid bronze.

“What the _hell!” _the man shouted, recoiling violently. Alex took up back pose, flinging the cord around in preparation of another bash. He had hoped he’d break the man’s jaw.

The man jerked his knives (were those _swords?_) out of the pillow and took three stumbling steps back. “Is that a goddamn _sink?”_

“Actually it’s everything _but _the kitchen sink,” Alex said stupidly, swinging around his weapon for another smack into the man’s sternum.

The man reacted much faster now that he expected the appliance assault. The two swords spun, sliding against one another to lock and twist- jerking the hose out of Alex’s hand.

Alex recognized he now had no weapon, so he stepped forward and kicked his fancy SCORPIA snow boots right at the man’s groin.

_“Why?” _the man snarled, slipping to one knee. His teeth bared feral and swords flashing. Alex didn’t know how the man wasn’t crying. “Why would you _do that?”_

“You made me sink to a whole new low,” Alex said, trying not to grin manically in the face of danger. He missed this, the _rush _of it all. “Although you should be happy, I didn’t try to use stopcock as a pun instead-.”

“Stop, just...stop,” the man said, finally catching the breath. “Who the _fuck are you?”_

_Don’t say it don’t say it-_

“I am _never_ going to manage this pun again so just stay there- _sorry about the stomp-cock.”_

The man deflated with a sigh-Alex had truly disappointed him. The man shook his head and said: “I’m going to slit your punny little throat.”

“Bold words for someone taking a knee.”

The man exhaled slowly, then stood in a movement that felt far too graceful to be human. In fact, it looked nearly alien in how careful it was- the poised calculating look as he twirled two knives. They were nice ones too, better than the few combat knives Ian had left around.

The man was an expert and clearly had gotten fed up with Alex’s taunting. The adrenaline in Alex’s blood turned cold, making his jaw twitch with aborted shivering.

“Oh,” Alex said, eyes flickering quickly over his enemy. Alex’s palms sweated, his adrenaline turned poison and made his stomach cramp.

Everything felt bright and slow. His enemy had far too many knives, secured on leather holsters slung around his hips and side. Most of the knives weren’t even easy to grab- decoration. Intimidation then, trying to scare people into submission.

_But he’s good, _Alex thought, finding the flaw instantly. _Why would he have intimidation if he can back it up?_

An appearance of danger and a wide crocodile smile. A bloodthirsty promise behind his eyes. He had nice armor exposed along his shoulders and…

“Oh, Yassen got you that armor too?” Alex blurted without thinking.

_Of course, _the man was with Yassen. The movements, the slow violence. That nice high quality and tasteful fashion that clearly the director and his red velvet couldn’t recognize.

“What?” the man asked. He paused in contemplation, brows twitching ever so slightly. His eyes widened and he took two sharp steps backward. He jerked something out of his pocket, flickering the lid on- was that a walkie talkie?

“Oh _shit,” _the man cursed staring at the screen in simple shock. “Yassen stole a fucking _infant?”_

“Oh wow, excuse me,” Alex snapped, feeling offended. “I’m the infant? Coming from the guy dressed like my old schoolmate’s goth phase?”

“Okay that was uncalled for,” the man glared pointedly, taking a heavy seat on Yassen’s bed. “Just..._Jesus. _How old _are _you? Yassen steals them young now? Did he get parental permission?”

Alex glared, taking a couple steps backward to recuperate and gain some distance. With his back against the wall, he could use it as a springboard if the man tried to stab him again.

“Just...okay, fine,” the man said in a heavy exhale. “What’s your name then?”

“Alex.”

The man stared blankly forward before he slumped his head into his palms. “_Jesus _Yassen. Are you fourteen?”

Alex stiffened across the room. “Yeah, how did you know?”

The man cursed something filthy, before he rubbed his eyes and stood up tiredly. “Sorry, just...Goddamn, that man is repressed. My name’s Nile, I contacted-.”

“Yeah, you sent the request,” Alex summarized simply. “Give me proof.”

Nile blinked twice. “You want proof, that I’m _actually _who I say? Good God, you’re paranoid. Here-,” the man reached into his front pocket, slipping under one of the tactile armor straps to tug out a small silver pin with a scorpion. **SCORPIA**, or an edgy taste in fashion.

“Okay, fine.” Alex grumbled. He walked carefully over the carpet, taking a crossed seating position on his bed. Yassen could get offended over Nile’s dirty shoes on his bed. “Where’s Yassen?”

“Perimeter check, investigating the layout,” Nile dismissed calmly. He seemed like an entirely different person now that he knew Alex wasn’t a threat. “He’ll be back once he has a good idea of where to go and vantage points.”

Alex nodded slowly, a frown tugging on his face. “The guards?”

“Already threatened, no worries there,” Nile snorted with a scowl. “Although considering you’d fit in a ball pit, you may have some difficulty with moving around here.”

Alex _pouted. _“I don’t! I’m sneaky-.”

“Kid I doubt you’d know subtle if it bashed you in the chest. _Oh, wait-.”_

Alex rolled his eyes, causing Nile to drop his jaw in sheer delight at the immaturity. “Good god how did Yassen ever pick you?”

Alex’s face contorted in confusion before it smoothed easily. “Oh, he didn’t. I robbed him and then he chased me through London.”

“I- you _robbed _him?” Nile asked. “You broke into his room-.”

“No! No, I just pickpocketed his things.”

Nile looked faint. He struggled with words, having a few false starts before he said: “You...you don’t just _pickpocket _him. Jesus kid, you can’t- that man is a _monster.”_

Alex felt slightly smug about that then. “I know! He followed me onto the roof, then across London. Stole a boat I think after I took over some teenagers fishing in the Thames-.”

“I’m sorry you _what?”_

Alex stretched leisurely. “I didn’t _know _he was an agent. I just thought he was a twink eating a danish.”

Nile choked on his spit, face flushed red as he began to suffocate and struggle. Alex almost felt bad for him. 

“Tell me about yourself then,” Alex said, forcing casualness. He still didn’t entirely trust this man, but Yassen would be back soon. He just needed to stall for time. “What’s your star sign, hobbies, that sort of thing.”

Nile hadn’t entirely recovered. He seemed very overwhelmed and not sure what to do. He flipped out a knife, casually cleaning under his fingernails with the sharpened tip. A sawback blade with a hollow grind. Fancy and intimidating.

“Well, I’m a Virgo, I think? God, what _is _my real birthday? I like long walks on the beach, juggling knives, and have a killer credit score.”

Alex tried not to laugh, but a tiny snort did wriggle its way out. It had been too long since he had decent humor interaction. “Oh yeah?”

“Car dealerships really like me,” Nile teased. His smile started to loosen, looking crooked on his face. Or Alex had managed to do some damage to his jaw- there was a spot looking like it would bruise.

“On a serious note, are you here willingly or did Yassen kidnap you?”

“He only kidnapped me once I stole the car.”

“Okay _ignoring that_ because I don’t have time to process it. You agreed? Consensual world traveling?”

Alex’s face shifted. Nile looked serious, a small tug of a frown as he gave a short nod. Nile noted the creases near the boy’s eyes, the hollows of his cheeks and the deep peeling of dehydration on his lips. Nile couldn’t fathom where Yassen would find the boy- was this why he mentioned suspecting MI6 developing child soldiers?

Had Yassen _taken one?_

“Yeah, he let me come along,” Alex said quietly. “I never really cared where we were going. I just didn’t want to stay in London anymore.”

“Ah, I know that feeling,” Nile sympathized. “Too many ghosts around the corner. Too many cameras and faces and you lose your own, don’t you?”

Alex shrugged. “I think he only let me come because I dropped a water tower on some MI6 agents.”

“You _what?”_

The door was squeaking, Alex sharpened to attention and balanced on his toes.

_He has quick reflexes, _Nile noted. _Balance too._

The door opened and Yassen walked in. Stiff and professional, his eyes quickly scanned the room and the discarded stabbed pillow-dummy and sink faucet.

Nile didn’t budge from his rude starfish over where Yassen would eventually be sleeping. Alex sat up a little straighter, rolling back his shoulders to a polite attentive posture.

“Nile,” Yassen said in a low murmur, closing the door behind him carefully. The hinges squealed at first, then grew silent as the man adjusted the tension necessary. “You assaulted the boy?”

“Oh hello there Mr. Tom-Cat, done scoping our territory?” Nile asked in response, his voice just high enough to appear slightly mocking.

Yassen paused, eyes flickering to Alex and then back. “You’re angry.”

“No _shit,” _Nile snarled, lunging up into a seated position. His hands curled in his lap, flexing and closing over and over. “Yassen this is a goddamn _kid! _He’s fourteen, brown hair brown eyes, his name is _Alex. _You can’t tell me this doesn’t look shady.”

Yassen paused for a moment. He gave the impression of appearing displeased.

“That is irrelevant to the situation.”

“Irrelevant? I should take you off this operation _right now _for being unstable wi-…” Nile hissed, eyes flickering to Alex before he grimaced. “Okay, right. _Uffa_!”

Alex blinked, mentally trying to cross wires quickly to what _clearly _was Italian. Yassen’s face didn’t shift, even as Nile started up another tirade in Italian.

“Not Italian,” Yassen corrected quietly _in _Italian. “The boy is fluent.”

Nile swung his head around, managing to look exasperated, annoyed, and almost _‘well, this may as well happen anyways’ _in one expression. “...He knows French, too doesn’t he?”

Alex gave a little wave, wiggling his fingers. “Just a little.”

Yassen barked out something sharp and guttural, low and slow that Nile paused before responding. Alex scowled. He didn’t know whatever they were speaking.

_“Russian, really?” _Nile asked, running one hand through his hair. _“Yassen, you can’t tell me that this is a coincidence.”_

_“It is.”_

_“You can’t steal a child to...to fulfill repressed guilt. This kid likely has a life! And you just stole him!’_

_“He agreed to come with me. It is merely a coincidence given the circumstances.”_

_“I should report you right now. This is- this is Stockholm. You can’t just…”_

_“The boy is a unique individual. I have done nothing to him.”_

_“Is Alex even his goddamn name?”_

“I heard my name,” Alex interrupted sharply. “Stop talking behind my back.”

Nile growled low in his throat, flopping back on the pillows feeling very frustrated. “This sucks.”

Alex huffed a wordless noise, curling up comfortably on the disgusting red comforter. “Could be worse.”

“It could,” Nile agreed bitterly. “Yassen! Tell your kid to assemble the sink again! Hit me in the goddamn jaw with it!”

“Ah,” Yassen said, nudging the sink faucet and long wire hose that ran into the plumbing. Yassen looked at Alex, giving an incredibly subtle nod.

Alex sunk into his bed, trying to disguise the warm flush of pride that bubbled under his skin.

“Anyways, where are you planning on putting the bugs?” Nile asked the ceiling, refusing to look at the traitor.

“Multiple strategic points,” Yassen murmured, taking off his coat. With careful movements, he tore out the bugs hidden in various locations. It took Alex nearly an hour to find them; Yassen managed it in seconds.

“The entry lobbies. The library. Reception hall. Grief’s office is too ambitious, but he lacks soundproofing materials within the door-.”

“Uh,” Alex said. He raised his head, looking both embarrassed and proud. “I found some of those things in my coat, and already stuck them around.”

“Wait you did _what _now?” Nile asked, pausing before he fished around to throw a pillow in Alex’s direction.

“You know what, I don’t have any more shock left to give. You ruined me at the pickpocketing and the- the parkour and boat chase or whatever that was. How the _hell _did a random kid find _bugs?”_

“You left the room,” Yassen said sharply. His voice flat and eyes dim in the light. “Where?”

“Everywhere,” Alex rolled his eyes in a huff again. “The security cameras are the slow sweep kind, with those huge blind spots if you time it right? Like hospital cameras? I just snooped a bit. Nobody _saw _me.”

“When were you in a hospital, kid?”

“Broken ankle. Yassen, nobody _saw me!”_

“That isn’t the point,” Yassen said. He was frowning as he walked towards Alex’s bed, quickly surveying the state of Alex’s dress and form. “I told you not to leave.”

“You think he compromised us?” Nile asked, suddenly dead serious. “If he compromises the mission, there are ramifications. You know this.”

Yassen smiled. Nile froze, baffled by the rare occurrence. Alex blinked wide and doe-eyed as Yassen reached out, gently taking the boy’s chin in his hand.

With careful controlled movements, Yassen tilted Alex’s face one way then another. Using his other hand, he tapped along Alex’s cheekbones, pressing firmly just under Alex’s eyes. Using his thumbs, he pressed upwards on the hollow of his jawbone. Palpating up and down before he traced and evaluated the hollows of Alex’s cheeks.

Alex held still, frozen in Yassen’s grip. The man’s hands were large and warm, calloused along his fingertips and the raised portions of his palms. Steady fingers, a subtle press of nail as he traced over Alex’s cheekbone and the slightly crooked bend to his nose.

Yassen pressed his right-hand down Alex’s throat, digging his fingertips systematically into various spots on either side of his trachea. Alex could feel his pulse thrum. Heavy in his carotid arteries just millimeters below Yassen’s trailing fingertips. The man did not comment on it, instead, he gripped the back of Alex’s neck, a lock of hair tangled around his ring finger.

“Do not resist,” Yassen murmured barely louder than a whisper. He rotated Alex’s gaze to the right, pressing into the back of his neck as he bent Alex’s head until his left ear ghosted his shoulder. Repeated to the other side, with Yassen digging sharply into any muscle that flared in protest.

Yassen spoke louder for their companion behind them: “I have little doubt in the boy’s abilities. His immune system is sufficient, as well as visual acuity.”

“That means _nothing, _and you know it,” Nile argued from the other bed. “So what if he can speak a few languages? He came at me with a _sink faucet.”_

Words bubbled to Alex’s lips before he could think. Yassen’s hands were withdrawing, releasing pressure and obviously in action to stop cradling his head. Alex said: “I planted two bugs already. One right outside the creep’s office in the lion’s mane and the other inside the stone dragon by the fireplace.”

Yassen said nothing, although his left thumb swept unnecessarily over Alex’s cheekbone once more.

_Well done, _it seemed to say.

Nile seemed to give Alex a more evaluating look. “Those are...good spots. I hadn’t considered using the taxidermy. You said nobody saw you?”

“He wouldn’t be seen,” Yassen said. He pulled back, standing contemplatively between the two beds. “Grief is aware of Alex, he may display more leniency in his self-control.”

“Because he’s so young, fits right in with the other kids.”

“Uh, pardon?” Alex asked, feeling slightly out of the loop. “What other kids?”

Nile smiled a crooked thing. “Congrats Alex, you’re on your first mission. Looks like you’ll be _allowed _to wander. This building is supposedly a school focusing on rehabilitating juvenile delinquents from notable families. We’re here to evaluate if a specific child is who Grief says he is. Due to your age and appearance, you may be able to slip around a bit easier than Yassen and I.”

“That makes sense,” Alex agreed after a small pause. “Grief is the name of the creep, right?’

“Yep,” Nile assured, looking at Yassen. “How far with a field evaluation did you get when you registered him? I don’t want to access **SCORPIA** directives just in case Grief gets greedy.”

“Basic field testing; vision, reflexes, processing speed, rationality.”

Nile nodded knowingly. “I’ll handle physiology, don’t want you getting biased on us. He looks smart. I don’t know _how, _but you may have gotten a lucky find.”

Yassen locked eyes with Alex and gave another of his ever so slight smiles. Alex could barely resist beaming back.

* * *

Anxiety devours.

Alex woke up to an empty room, where Yassen had long since left. Alex couldn’t help the rattling feeling, trickling through his skin and out of his breath.

He had joined a man he never knew, and woke along in a bed owned by a man he didn’t know. Alex had survived so long on his own, he had no concept for how to interact with anyone else.

Nile showed up once Alex began to move, the creaking of the floor audible through the walls. Alex smiled, pretended, and fought off the gnawing in his diaphragm.

_Let’s try this again._

Nile pointed out the drawings and semantics for various things. The blueprints of the building according to the National Registry, the blueprints of the building according to satellite, the blueprints according to Nile’s own investigation. Papers and rough sketches of each of the boys at the school, so far only seven. According to the floorplans, the building could have housed ten times that.

“I’ve talked to almost every kid, they’re all normal but...well…” Nile trailed off with a slight wince. “I’m a bit out of touch with the times now. They _seemed _fine, if not a bit...conforming. You were a delinquent too, right?”

Was he a delinquent? He was wanted by his government, chased out of the country, and now going across the world for some sort of sneaky spy mission?

What was the worst he had done anyways? Broke into MI6 headquarters, screamed a bit at Alan Blunt, stole a few cars, maybe set a building on fire. He wasn’t _that _bad.

Jack had always loved him. He thought that Ian liked him.

“I know my way around trouble,” Alex said. “Sometimes I don’t start it but a lot of times I do.”

“Right, you’ll fit in fine. We’ve got Tom, Hugo, James, Nicolas, Cassian, Joe, and another Alex. All of them are from important families-.”

“Like what?” Alex asked, tilting his head slightly. Nile paused, shrugging after a few seconds of thought.

“Different locations around the world. Diamond mining operation, media empires, senators. One of the kids has a father in the Pentagon, that’s our main problem. Don’t talk to Joe Canterbury if you can help it, the _last _thing we need is for him to have his father recognize us.”

Alex’s head swam from the surplus of information. All the boys were some form of delinquents, what did they all have in common? What was the link?

“We’ll set you lose at their lunch. Everything is so organized and precise, it’s practically Yassen’s wet dream. Ask around, blend in and shoot the shit with the kids. See what you can find out, I’ll be meeting with Grief again with the one kid. His name is _also _Alex- I know.”

Alex let Nile poke and prod him, pressing firmly on various locations. Much more thorough than any doctor’s visit he had before. Nile seemed to focus on every isolated muscle instead of overall condition.

Stretch out your arm and make a fist in front of you. Shift your shoulder blade and punch further. Good, now the other side. Try to stop me from pushing you back, try to push forward.

The amount of testing seemed to go on forever, down to three different ways to rotate his wrist. Nile hummed, displeased over something but too professional to explain what precisely it was. Alex could touch his toes while standing but had a harder time while sitting down. He could grab his wrists when reaching over his shoulder and around his hip, but he couldn’t exactly get his knees flat to the floor in certain postures.

“You aren’t _bad, _but you’ve got some injuries,” Nile told him at the end, looking a bit perplexed but also fascinated.

“Your overall strength is good enough, some muscle tearing and scarring you can work out with time. Your left ankle can’t rotate properly-,”

“I broke that with a... friend,” _Tom. _“Playing football, kicked a post by accident and broke it four years ago.”

“Easy fix if we stretch it. Minor shock issues in your spine, some nasty twisting too. Looks like impact issues, get thrown off a horse recently?”

Alex couldn’t help the snort. “No. Jumped through a couple windows.”

Nile managed a small grin, working some sort of joke about defenestration as he determined

Alex’s reflexes were above normal. Sensory overload and overstimulation more likely as well, he’d need to wear gloves outside.

It felt almost endearing how carefully Nile ran through everything. Pressing and kneading every tiny scar to make sure there were no long-lasting injuries. He gave Alex the basic plan, things to avoid or things to mention.

His cover story consisted of no cover story at all, only a dramatic telling of facts that would lead to presumptions that could, eventually, reveal the mindset of the children. An information operation had turned into infiltration and deep cover.

The bell rang, signaling lunch. Nile patted Alex’s shoulder once, just above the between-the-shoulder-blades knife holster he strapped on the boy himself. (It felt odd since the chip spot still itched and Nile’s weird harness smelled a bit too much like deodorant).

“Good luck,” Nile muttered in final words, dismissing Alex with nothing else.

Alex couldn't help but feel excited; Ian had never involved him and kept his life a secret until his grave. If Ian had included him, like what Yassen was doing, would he still be alive? Would MI6 be as irritated with Alex’s existence?

Did Ian think that Alex wasn’t capable?

It was ten minutes past one when Alex reached the dining room. The other boys were already there, easily identifiable by their distinct features. Different hair colors, different eyes that locked onto his presence like wolves on a kill. They stared blinking casually with a sublayer of deep judgment.

One boy nearest the half-wall into the kitchen turned to give Alex his full attention. Eyes flickering over his body, his standard clothes. Whatever lunch they were having appeared to be served at the half wall in a large black pot. The ones at the table looked at him curiously, leaving their bowls of food abandoned in favor of someone new.

Alex ignored them, walking towards the half-wall and one boy. He could feel their eyes on him, digging through his clothes and past the knife and right into Alex.

Grief had been unsettling, but these boys were more…unsettling.

“Hi,” Alex said, grabbing a bowl of what looked to be stew. The boy stared at him in shock.

“You’re James, right?” Alex said, already knowing that he was. Nobody else at the tables fit his description.

“Yeah…” the boy said, blinking quickly before he grabbed the ladle and finished serving himself. “Who _are _you?”

“Alex, another one I hear. Must be a popular name.”

“Must be,” James said, staring at Alex with a weird sort of focus. “Are you...new here?”

Alex rolled one shoulder. “Not really.”

James clearly didn’t know what to do with him. He seemed easy to talk to, a bit like Tom back home. But more...ragged. Alex pushed a lump of weird meat around his bowl, appetite all but gone in his nervousness. James seemed oddly interested in how Alex was playing with his food. He quickly stopped, pretending that he was as calm as everyone else seemed to be. James if anything, looked calmer.

“You get in on that last helicopter then?” the boy asked. “Heard it last night. Another tester?”

Was that the story Nile had gone with then? Some sort of school evaluator?

“Well, not _tester,” _James said, adjusting his word choice. “A bit like...a talent scout? Real weird fellow. Skin issue?”

Yeah, Nile. “I’m here with his coworker.” It wasn’t a lie.

James looked a bit disgruntled by that. “There’s another then? Why are you here, trying to take in the sights of this _lovely _school?”

“It looks like a prison.”

James snorted sourly. “Feels like one. Look, it’s creepy here. Really creepy.”

Alex had known that already, but somehow this stranger had found the need to tell Alex that. James gave a pointed look, set his barely touched stew down on the counter, and walked right out of the dining hall. That left the two tables to pick from.

One table had brown hair and a blonde hair boy chatting together. The blonde was Cassian, Alex could figure that out. Cassian apparently stuck with Joe often, the two Americans. The brown hair American- Joe, was the one to watch out for.

That left the other table the safer one, with the two brown hair boys and one reddish hair. Tom, Hugo, and Nicolas?

Joe and Cassian at one table. Hugo, Tom, and Nicolas at another. Stay away from Joe.

_Easy, _Alex thought, grabbing his stew bowl and approaching the table group of three who looked very interested in his approach.

“Hello,” the one boy said with traces of a Dutch accent. He tilted his head slightly, still holding his spoon aloft as if Alex had caught him mid-word. “Are you new?”

The other two boys looked equally fascinated. Weren’t they supposed to be from different backgrounds?

“No, I’m not,” Alex said calmly, eating his stew. He was keenly aware that the other table’s two occupants were staring at him in fascination. “My name is Alex, well, another Alex.”

“Another one,” one of the boys mused with a flatter accent. American? Canadian? “Hugo.”

“Joe,” the other boy introduced, leaving Alex a mental moment of _shite _because of course, the Pentagon-boy was here.

“Nice to meet you,” Alex nodded bluntly. It always worked back in school with group projects. Nobody was ever interested in someone new. Except, they _were._

“Where are you from, then?” Hugo asked, leaning forward the best he could. “British?”

“Yeah, London.” London was so bloody big, they’d never get anything out of that. Instead, they looked _more _interested.

_What is going on here?_

“You came in yesterday in the helicopter?” Joe asked, eyes scanning up and down Alex’s clothing. For some reason, Alex thought the boy seemed much more intrigued with how bland his wardrobe was. “With the new man?”

“Another investigator?” said the red-haired boy, whatever his name was.

Investigator? James had said evaluator.

“Yeah, told me to get...whatever this is,” Alex said, dropping his spoon back into the stew for emphasis.

“It’s stew,” Hugo offered helpfully. Alex didn’t quite know how to respond to that.

“So you’re his kid then?” Tom asked, eyes focused as he still held his spoon aloft and frozen in his hand. “The new one? I thought they were the best of the best.”

Alex felt adrenaline pulse very quickly through his blood.

“Who?”

“Well, the agency that sent the first one,” Joe said. “Must not be _that _good if they needed a second opinion.”

Funny. Grief had said almost the exact same thing to Yassen’s face.

“Yeah, well,” Alex said, shrugging at the end. He put his spoon in his bowl and pushed it slightly aside. He didn’t feel that hungry anymore. The three boys didn’t seem to notice, all leaning incuriously.

“So you _are?” _Joe asked, nearly brimming with restrained enthusiasm. “Where have you been then? What were you part of?”

The way they were phrasing things felt...far too knowing.

Curious and ravenous in a way that the stew wouldn’t help.

_They have the same look, _Alex thought. 

“What do you mean?”

Tom looked at Hugo, sharing something unspoken. Joe tilted his head ever so slightly and said: “Well, a crime family. You must have seen many things on missions.”

They..._knew? _About **_SCORPIA_**_? _How was Joe taking this so calmly- he was the son of a man in the Pentagon? American global defense. He wouldn’t be _that _calm, that open-minded.

And **SCORPIA** being part of _crime? _

Alex would interrogate Nile on that later; Yassen would only just look at him until he gave up.

“Uh, just here and there,” Alex thwarted quickly. “I haven’t seen anything impressive.”

“Have you seen someone die?” Joe asked, lips parting in what was the abandoned start to a grin. It withdrew quickly, morphing into a curious head tilt. They all tilted their head like that.

Alex suddenly understood why James had opted to stand so far away.

These were not like his classmates or the football team that would insult each other and bonk Tom with the ball when he wasn’t looking. This was...not normal.

_Avoid suspicion, dig deeper. _Alex wouldn’t fail, not when Yassen had put so much trust in him already.

“Nah,” Alex shrugged his shoulder, poking the stew and resting his cheek in his palm. None of the boys had their elbows on the table. “Just some boring things.”

“Like assault?” Tom asked since Joe appeared to withdraw his heavy presence. “Is it true that you can hear bones crunch from a distance?”

_Bloody Hell, _these kids were savages.

“They do but depends on the bones. Ribs you get nothing. Sometimes if you dislocate a joint, it sounds wet like custard.”

All three boys had the same expression; delighted and failing to properly hide it.

“I couldn’t imagine it,” Joe said, the more...aggressive of the three. “Being undercover so long. Seems a bit like a movie.”

Alex didn’t like where the conversation was going. “I’ve never done it.”

Joe hummed a flat dismissive sound. Alex had the feeling the boy was suddenly irritated.

They had classes, and Alex didn’t. It was easy to step aside, walk down the hallways calmly towards the third floor where his room awaited him.

Except...a boy was outside. The boy from before, James. He was wearing winter clothing, a hat, and gloves, and was walking in the direction of the ski jump Alex had seen a lifetime ago. Sitting around wouldn’t do him any good, especially since James seems to be the only sane one here. Alex grabbed his coat and boots, sliding one of the few bugs into his coat pocket. If James said anything, it could be useful to have it on record.

Alex walked outside quickly, following along the path he saw James walking. It had begun to snow again, drifting down gently. A couple of armed guards spotted Alex, starting to say something before quickly turning once recognizing him. Nile must have been thorough with his threat.

Following James’ footprints was easy in the thick snow. They headed towards the elaborate ski jump, fresh and deep.

“Hey!” Alex said once recognizing the same coat from the window. “James!”

The boy spun around in a jerky terrified movement. He lifted his arms above his head, anticipating he would be shot somehow. Alex reciprocate the gesture, causing the two boys to stare at one another with their arms elevated. It looked absurdly like they were waiting for a hug.

“Uh, Alex, right?” James shouted, jamming his hands back in his pocket. He looked nervous, breath coming fast in steaming puffs from his mouth. He stood near the ski jump. According to Nile’s detailed floor plans, the jump had been built before Grief bought the building.

Alex walked over, not saying anything. He rested his arms on the wooden barriers that stopped entry into the jump. James let him, breathing quietly in the snow.

“Why are you out here?” Alex asked.

“When I’m inside the building, I get the feeling that someone is listening to every word I say.”

Alex had been feeling the same way. He felt a shiver worm its way down his spine; it had nothing to do with the temperature.

“Do you like this place?” James asked him quietly.

“No,” Alex said. He couldn’t even fathom lying, James was just a terrified kid who had been thrown out too many times. Now he was stuck here because he had a family and Alex hadn’t. “It’s creepy.”

James gave a snort, swiping his nose on the back of his hand. Otherwise his snot would freeze, and Alex knew personally it always itched and hurt to peel away after.

James looked at him, speaking in a whisper: “If you stay here, you’ll end up like the others. Model students. They’re all...plastic. Synthetic and... I need to leave before that happens to me.”

They didn’t seem plastic to Alex. They seemed curious and morbid. Grotesque more than model. “Are you going to ski down?”

James grimaced a bit, still looking at Alex with a shifty side gaze. “It’s half-melted at the bottom, but it’s possible.”

James didn’t have anything left to say, instead he pulled his gloved hands out of his pockets and gripped the wood tightly. Alex felt bad for him, James hadn’t known any better.

The guards were doing rounds again, walking around in winter gear. One guard lingered slightly closer- maybe worried James would jump the fence and make a run for it.

Alex didn’t care for them, although the guns did make him twitchy. Nile’s knife holster itched under all his clothes, a weird weight that made his shoulder blade throb.

The guard brushed past, and James stiffened slightly. The boy’s breathing sped up like he was puffing on a cigar.

“I- you…” James wet his lips nervously, trying not to look _too _obvious. “Aren’t the guards German?”

Why would Alex know? From what Alex had seen, they all were blonde and blue-eyed. They normally walked in pairs also, which this new guard didn’t.

Alex tried to be subtle about it. He yawned, stretching his arms and twisting to get a look.

_That guard has black hair._ He could see only a bit of it peeking out from a ventilation hole on the helmet. Clearly James had seen the same thing.

An intruder? A spy? _More?_

“Go inside, I’ll ask,” Alex said. James needed no further words and bolted off. Alex hopped through the snow, the **SCORPIA** boots holding out like a champ. The guard looked at him, sliding into a rigid standby military posture at Alex’s approach.

“Hi,” Alex said casually. He jammed his hands in his pocket, mindful of the active bug. “Where’s your partner?”

“Different sector,” the guard said with no hesitation. Something about it...felt wrong.

“Oh,” Alex said. “Do you know if it’s going to storm today? I hate when it does.”

The man snorted slightly, a very quiet scoff of annoyance. “Why should I know?”

He had black hair, Alex was certain of that now. Dark eyes, unlike every other guard. He _did _have a German accent, but Alex couldn’t tell if it was faked or not.

“Well, I don’t have a phone.”

“Get your dad to buy one.”’

The guard didn’t know who he _was._

* * *

Alex came into the room wearing a rosy flush along his cheekbones and nose like that of blood on his cheeks.

Nile waited until the door closed, and Alex had taken off his boots and coat before he gave the boy his attention.

“We have a problem,” Alex breathed shakily, looking cold and a bit miserable. “Well, _maybe _a problem.”

Nile frowned and considered if the woes of a fourteen-year-old boy really were important. Alex fished around in his coat, yanking out one of their few bugs to hold in shivering fingers. “Did Yassen say you could take that-.”

“Just _listen!” _Alex hissed quietly. “Do you know this person’s voice? Is it a real accent?”

Nile really wished he had a secretary who could deal with all this stupidity. “You’re worried over an _accent?”_

Alex managed a deadpan stare. “No, I’m just shivering-me-timbres- _yes just listen! _I saw a guard with black hair!”

Nile looked at him. “All of the guards are aryan.”

“Well, this one is _not. _Oh, and all the kids are killer creepy,” Alex paused, then squinted. “That pun was accidental.”

“What pun?” Nile asked tiredly. “What pun could you possibly do?”

Alex huffed. “The kids here want to like, murder a puppy.”

Nile sighed, standing stiffly. “Look, kid, just...run me through everything exactly.”

Alex scowled, crossing his arms. He had attitude, no wonder he fit in well. “I already _told _you. The kids here are messed up- and I _don’t _mean in the arson way. I mean the stab-you-in-the-back way!”

Nile very pointedly looked at the sink faucet still laying on the floor. Alex flushed in embarrassment and ignored it.

“I went outside because the only _normal _kid is terrified, and one of the guards has black hair and dark eyes!”

Nile huffed and rubbed his eyes again. “Look, I’m actually _busy. _I have reports to run, and I don’t have time to listen to an _accent. _Can you figure this out on your own? Or bring this up later tonight?”

Alex stared at him, somehow in disbelief. The boy looked down, steeled his expression, and closed off entirely. “Where’s Yassen.”

“Working, like _I need to.”_

Alex huffed petulantly and stormed out. Finally, Nile could get the report sent to Mrs. Rothman.

* * *

“Hi, Alex!” Hugo greeted setting down his book upon noticing him. “How are you?”

Alex didn’t want to interact more with the uncanny children, but James was missing, and Nile was being as useful as school paper towels.

“Hi,” Alex greeted, taking a seat in the nearest reclining chair. Hugo didn’t look at his book anymore, opting to close it and set it aside entirely. Strange given how absorbed he was when Alex first found him.

“You look bored,” Hugo noted with a head tilt. Alex hated those head tilts. “Do you often have more involvement in missions?”

Missions now, they were changing how to phrase this the longer time went on. Alex couldn’t name it, but something about these children felt very...dangerous.

“Normally I don’t go stir crazy.”

“It’s not so bad here,” Hugo said with a smile. “You can learn anything you’d like here. You likely know much more than us, what were you trained in?”

It was how casually he was. The dismissive referral to ‘us. As if all the boys already operated as one thing. Mind control? Brainwashing?

“Just tiny things,” Alex said slowly. “Lockpicking, hotwiring a car.”

Hugo looked at him as if he were the sun. “Do you have a codename?”

“No,” _did Ian? Was Ian even his name? _“I mean, not now I mean.”

“To have a second name…” Hugo mused quietly. “You would be Alexander the Great. A good leader, tactician.”

Something curled and writhed in Alex’s stomach. “That’s a cool name.”

“Isn’t it?” Hugo asked, staring so curious and hopeful and _shy. _“I... I’m Hannibal.”

“Oh, nice to meet you.”

Hugo _beamed. _“You are very interesting, Alex. You do not look much like your father.”

Yassen, right. “Well, do we ever actually look like our fathers?”

Hugo jerked his head down, messing with his fingers. If Alex didn’t know better, he’d say the boy was _shy. _“I suppose not.”

Hugo was...nice. He kept stealing looks, somehow appearing pleased with the concept of Alex himself instead of anything Alex did. It was easy to fall into, tracking the head tilts and finger gestures and rhythm of the blinking. There was something very wrong, and the Nile was too busy to help.

_I’ll figure it out myself, _Alex thought. _I’ve been fine on my own for a year now. _

Where was Nile when the week-long thunderstorm hit? Or when MI6 was sending agents after Yassen. Alex was fine on his own, he didn’t need crude hand-drawn maps to navigate the building. Alex had something better than Nile.

“Hugo,” Alex asked politely. “Would you be so nice as to give me a tour? I had a brief overview but...it’s always different for people like us, right?”

Hugo’s eyes widened slightly before he agreed delighted.

* * *

Hugo lead him across the building, pointing out small details with the attention of someone who lived there much longer. Pointing out cracks in the plaster, the best windows. The creaky floorboards. Alex coaxed him along, feeling distant from himself.

_Which stairs creak? Which hallways have hiding spots? When do the guards change? _

Hugo found himself very quickly the unknowing informant in their little game of spies. Hugo pointed out information, all for the delight of educating Alex.

“So few visitors come here, it is wonderful to meet someone new,” Hugo explained contently. He rubbed the snout of a taxidermy gazelle mounted along the wall.

“I could say the same.”

Hugo looked ahead, signaling crudely for quiet in the hand sign Alex showed him. They crept along, peering over the edge of the second-floor landing onto the main floor below.

“That is Alex,” Hugo explained, knowing somehow that the two had never met. “He is polite. Go say hello.” Hugo left him, so Alex stepped out and into sight.

The boy looked up at him, wearing a cozy sweatshirt that Alex liked himself. His hair was blonde, eyes familiar.

It felt like a carnival Jack once took him to. It had a hall of mirrors, reflections that distorted you into something unrecognizable.

Solidified into reality when a cartoonist attempted to draw realism. The subtle shifting whispers of _better luck next time._

Alex understood why James had stared at him a little too closely. This boy- Alex had never seen before, could claim to be his brother.

“Oh, they weren’t kidding.” The stranger said, looking bemused with a crooked half-smile. “So, you’re Alex too, yeah? Reckon that. Sorry, I missed you before, wasn’t giving you the cold shoulder.”

The other-Alex then jerked his thumb towards the closest window, where snow battered against the glass.

“Holy shit,” Alex said.

The other-Alex barked a laugh, finally looking equally amazed and weirded out. “Talk about a peer review.”

Alex took one step forward then two. He walked down the red-carpeted steps, closer to the other boy.

The other Alex lifted his arms to his side, giving a little twirl. Displaying all his appearance and shorter cut hair and slight dimples and eye-rolling mimicry.

“You done? Want me to sit? Speak? Roll over? Bark like a dog?”

_Jesus, _“No I’m...caught off guard. I’m Alex.”

“What a coincidence,” the other boy said trying not to cackle. “Me too.”

_Jesus Christ. _Jack would lose her shit over this.

Alex didn’t know what it was. Some sort of primal instinct prickling at the back of his neck. He walked around the other boy, taking a survey of all his details. Similar body structure, similar age. Alex lost sight of the boy’s face and had the terrifying mental image of large protruding teeth in a gaping empty pit. _I will eat you alive._

Alex walked around and stared horrified at the wrong-mirror Alex smiling at him expectantly. “So? Do I pass? Gold star?”

_Jesus. Christ._

“Yeah,” Alex chuckled slightly, feeling very off-kilter. “Always heard I’ve got one of those faces. Must be a pain to be mistaken all the time.”

Other Alex rolled his eyes knowingly. “It’s the bloody worst.”

Alex didn’t want to be here anymore. He had never felt as terrified as he did now under the eyes of this fake skinned creature.

“I need to go, it’s been nice to meet you,” Alex said, hoping he’d never see the boy again.

“See you around, Alex,” Alex said, offering a wave. 

Alex refused to wave back.

* * *

Alex had not dreamed nightmares in a long time.

At first, after he heard the news of Ian, he dreamed of dying. In foster care, he dreamed of his uncle dying slowly and painfully alone. Then he dreamed of Jack dying, and vanishing, and then Alex ran away and hadn’t dreamed since.

Then he met Alex, and he woke up nearly screaming.

Yassen moved _fast_, operating with terrifying fluidity as he pulled out a loaded gun and pointed it into an empty room.

Alex struggled to breathe. His hands cramped around the velvet blanket, trembling. He felt cold and sweaty. Disgusting. Wrong and warped and his head flashed with the afterimages of a too wide smile and _‘Let’s try this again, Alex.’_

Yassen put down the loaded gun and turned on the adjacent lamp. The man rarely slept. Already he seemed on the cusp of complete awareness. He surveyed Alex and the wrinkled blankets and stink of sweat and sighed heavily.

“What is it, Alex?” he said through a heavy Russian accent. It sleeps slurred that all vowels shifted oddly. _Fought es et, Aleks? _

“Nothing,” Alex choked out, suffocating on his tongue. Yassen looked at him before he sighed heavily with all his body. Yassen’s shoulders curved in from the force of his breathing, the tight black shirt stretched over lithe muscles.

“You need to stop hyperventilating,” Yassen said with his sleep dumb tongue. Russian accent stirring and striking something deep. Alex sunk forward, digging his fingertips sharply into his scalp. He could only think of the other-Alex, the horrible thought of _wrong-wrong-wrong. _It felt perverse and foul and that _thing _was sleeping in the _same building._

“Alex,” Yassen said in a low rumble. His accent shifted it into _Aleks. _“Breathe slower.”

He couldn’t, he _couldn’t-._

Yassen stood - waded the three steps between the bed and settled on Alex’s mattress with a heavy sigh. Alex could feel the warmth behind his back, tantalizingly just behind his hunkered posture.

“Aleks,” Yassen rumbled low, reaching slowly to trail his hand along the top of Alex’s right shoulder. He gripped him gently, entire palm encompassing around the bone. “Aleks, slow your breathing.”

He couldn’t, not when he felt on par to suffocation with dizzying starbursts in his vision. Vertigo twisted on the corner of awareness, tying him to a windmill to stumble head over heels in a loop.

“Relax,” Yassen said in a voice barely higher than a whisper. His grip tightened into a tugging force. Sliding Alex up from his hunkered position backward until he reclined against a much larger torso.

Alex’s smaller frame tried to curl back up, which Yassen prevented by shifting his body into that of a cloak restraining his every movement. Body heat sunk through the uncontrollable trembling, the strong pounding of a steadier heart pierced him like a knife.

“Hush,” Yassen scolded in a rumble Alex felt along the back of his neck. Yassen’s right arm slid around him, putting sharp pressure to immobilize his sternum. The other snaked to grab his throat and jaw, forcing his head skywards in a sharp jerk. Open his airways, impede his muscle fluttering.

“Hush,” Yassen shushed him again, pressing slightly firmer along his chest when Alex’s ribs flared in protest to spontaneous suffocation.

Then, he let go. Alex inhaled in a hoarse ragged gasp of air, suddenly tasting oxygen and coughing against suffocation. Yassen waited, immobilizing him when his chest dare move out of pace. The hand on his jaw removed tight and firm. If Alex wasn’t so frantic- absorbing all sensory information, he could in his adrenaline rush - he may have no noticed how Yassen dozed off contently all around him.

His breathing slowed and lethargy lulled him back to sleep. Alex knew he was being gripped tightly, then he awoke sharply alone in a bed with too many pillows that failed to fill the empty space.

Alex got dressed quickly, trying his best to ignore the emptiness. He gathered his things, contorting into the knife holster and sliding the sawback knife into its slot. The baggy wool sweater fit loosely over that, resting high on his throat.

A glimpse in the mirror had Alex twitching about his appearance. He looked skinny in an unattractive way. Hair long and split into kinked straw strands. His mouth had enough peeling skin to warrant aloe. His cheeks still had that blotchy redness from old acne. He looked ugly.

Alex shoved his feet in his boots, slamming the door behind him. Nile next door already looked operational, working on something in a code so elaborate even with a cipher Alex would struggle.

“What’s on the agenda?” Alex grumbled, his voice hoarse as he flopped into the spindly chair next to Nile’s bed. Nile didn’t look at him.

“Confidential information,” Nile said casually. “You sure sleep in. It’s almost nine already, you’ve missed English class.”

“Don’t even joke about that,” Alex grimaced. “Where’s Yassen?”

Nile jerked one thumb over his shoulder towards the door. His other hand didn’t stop writing. “He’s been working. Left around five in the morning and has been with Alex- the _other _Alex since.”

“Oh,” Alex said. He tried, he _really _did. Something in his voice must have shown through because Nile paused and looked at him.

“You _know _we’re on a job. This is an operation.”

“I know that it just…” Alex trailed off with another small grimace. “I don’t like him.”

Nile rolled his eyes and went back to writing. Alex knew a dismissal when he saw one.

He left, walking through the large cozy building that felt lonely just like his bedroom. The mounted heads on the wall watched him, judging his slow shuffling gait.

_I’ll look for James, _Alex thought.

With a purpose in mind, he turned and began his search. He found James in a makeshift biology lab, standing next to Hugo as they worked on some sort of boring lab dissection. Alex remembered the last one he did- poking open a sheep eyeball with long blunt scissors. The eye squirted fluid everywhere, managing to get into his friend Tom’s mouth and leave the boy shrieking.

Alex approached, peering over the dull metal trey with a question in his mouth. It faded, sinking and curdling in his gut at the sight of the rat in the trey. Pinned spread down in the blue rubber bottom, its back peeled open to reveal the muscles of its spine. Alex noticed, that the rat was breathing very quickly.

“It’s alive?” Alex blurted, numb with shock.

“Would you like one?” Hugo asked him curiously. He gestured over to the corner, where an elaborate rig of cages and bins housed what appeared to be a breeding operation. “They are interesting on the inside; would you like me to show you?”

Alex averted his eyes as casually as you could. “Aren’t you supposed to pith them?”

James looked at him, eyes wide and curious as he stilled his hand with a blunt tool. “Pith?”

Alex looked at James- who had been so terrified prior- look at Hugo with shared interest.

_What happened to you? _Alex thought, trying to recall what his old teachers had done to the classroom frog. “Yeah its...you stab them at the base of the skull, I think? They have a living body, but the brain isn’t connected.”

Hugo’s eyes lit up, he handed over a scalpel eagerly. The rat on the table looked beyond hope.

“Here,” Alex said disguising his shaking voice with a cough. He poked the rat, splintering its skull and brain like cutting celery. The rat continued to breathe at a much steadier pace.

“It _is_ still breathing,” James noted in awe. “This is called pithing?”

Alex hastily put the scalpel down, not liking the adoring expression now inhabiting James’ eyes. 

“The others are doing over activities,” Hugo explained quickly. If Alex had to name it, he’d say Hugo appeared almost...bashful. “Would you like to join us? We planned to walk outside.”

“The guards don’t bother you?”

“The guards aren’t here to hurt us,” James said. “They’re for our protection. I found a trail outside that looks interesting, we planned to snowshoe after this.”

Snowshoeing in Alex’s experience was an exhausting activity. The thick snow around Point Blanc would be a workout on par with sprinting up a sand dune. Worse, with the thick winter gear, they had to wear.

“I thought you had mathematics class?” Alex said. He had gone over the daily schedule back in Nile’s room, determining who to find and follow. James paused, looking at Hugo with...panic? Hugo looked equally torn, staring at the slowly dying rat as if _he _were the one pained.

“I…” Hugo exhaled in a shuddering breath. “I want to walk outside. Missing a class won't be...bad.”

James paused for perhaps a few seconds too long before he weakly gave a laugh. “Yeah! I’ve skipped all the time!”

Both boys looked slightly lost as they split, heading to each room to find their winter clothing. Alex waited at the front door, warming his fingers near the fireplace. Hugo and James met him there, both looking determined and faintly nauseous. They braved the outdoors, kicking through the snow towards the connected sport equipment shed. They found the snowshoes hanging from pegs on the back wall, some already heat formed to specific shoe sizes and boots. Others built from flexible straps, secured by strings and bolts. The older models had smooth wood along the underside, looking like a tennis racquet. Hugo pulled down three pairs; modern steel with a versatile black material protecting them from the sharp tooth bottom.

Alex slotted his feet into the necessary spots, looping the laces and straps until he was confident that they wouldn’t come off. James looked fascinated, tracing the serrated bottoms as if he had never seen them before.

Waddling out of the shed, crunching along the top of the snow felt almost more a relief. James led them down a slow descent, looping around some cleared forest walkways that could have been a beginner’s ski hill at one point.

A loud crack caused Alex to flinch, diving directly into the snow to lay as flat as possible. Hugo made a quick noise of alarm, then apology as he hastily helped Alex to his feet.

“I’m sorry!” Hugo apologized frantically. “I hadn’t thought. Those are the ranges! We are completely safe here; the range overlooks the further hill.”

“A range?’ Alex asked, shivering from the tricky snow that wriggled down the back of his jacket. “You use guns here?”

“For the guards,” James explained. “They practice there. We practice as well, do you shoot?”

He hadn’t not in... years. Ian showed him once, correcting his aim until he was decent enough to defend himself. He had more experience with a crossbow, a compound bow, and a blowgun. Paintball suggested he’d be fine with a rifle. “Not recently.”

James smiled, his teeth white like the snow flurries around them. “You should shoot with us! I think Alex is there- oh...the...original Alex?”

Alex brushed off Hugo and stood quickly. Snappishly, he said: “_I’m _the original Alex.”

Hugo and James looked at each other, a bit awkwardly. Hugo settled it, timidly suggesting a nickname.

“Or a codename, like we discussed the other day,” Hugo said. “I’m Hannibal, you’re Alexander.”

Right, Alex remembered this. A bit of an odd code name, but he could get on board with it.

James looked a bit flustered and freaked before he slowly offered a shaky, “Nero?”

“Yes, you’re Nero,” Hugo said delighted. “The..._other _Alex is Julius.”

“Julius,” Alex tried on his tongue. It felt wrong, but everything about the boy seemed to wriggle below his skin. A parasite Yassen was investigating.

“You can see the range if we go through the trees there,” James offered helpfully. He pointed between two massive pines, their boughs so iced over they looked like pointed spires. They walked, James and Hugo, talking casually back and forth with no hostility. It seemed as if James had become someone entirely else.

_Brainwashing is my best bet, _Alex thought. Hugo seemed quite interested in Alex’s story of the exploding sheep eye.

“There!” James pointed through the trees, trying to guide Alex’s eye to where the range broke from the cliff edge. The targets were built at a severe angle, a deathly drop to emulate a guard tower. The targets far below stayed suspended on a network of metal cables, flitting about from a mechanism of pullies and levers. Elaborate and chaotic, just as all of Point Blanc was.

“I brought these,” Hugo said, passing Alex a pair of binoculars. They expanded into high-quality gear, much better than anything made for bird watching. Had Hugo stolen them from a guard? Alex zoomed and adjusted. The binoculars were so advanced, he could pick out the smallest of details once properly steadied.

He had anticipated seeing the other- (_no, don’t think like that) _he anticipated seeing _Julius _in one of the stalls. Instead, he saw Yassen watching critically from just behind the boy’s shoulder, peering about with a flat face. Julius squinted behind his goggles, the hearing protection sleek around his winter cap. His fingers exposed with the cut-off gloves, carefully handling the rifle stock.

_Bam! _Julius fired below, adjusting smoothly to the next target like a well-oiled machine. _Bam! Bam!_

“He’s a crack shot,” James sighed, sounding a bit annoyed. “Always brags about it too.”

_Bam! _Julius grinned, white teeth flashing as he removed his hearing protection. Yassen walked closer, saying something before Julius _blushed _and tried to dismiss something. The distance was too great to read their lips. Alex watched as Yassen came around, sharply adjusting Julius’ arm and shoulder.

He said something- then Julius turned and randomly fired a loud _bam!_

The target must have hit, which was _impossible _since Julius hadn’t even _looked, _but Yassen smiled and nodded. Julius beamed.

Alex pulled the binoculars away, feeling very cold.

“Are you alright?” Hugo asked, taking the binoculars back quickly. “Did you see him?”

“Was he showing off again?” James sighed suffering.

“Something like that,” Alex said.

* * *

Alex came into Nile’s room with a mission and a temper. He closed the door, locking it for good measure, then tore his large sweater off.

“Slow down kid,” Nile said with one raised brow. “Take me to dinner first.”

“Shut up,” Alex snarled furiously. He paced back and forth, feeling as if he would burst from his skin if he slowed. “I want you to teach me how to throw knives.”

Nile’s smile slid right off his face. “Training tokens is directly under the jurisdiction of their sponsor.”

“Oh I’m sorry, has Yassen been showing me something in my _sleep?”_

“Okay that’s...fair,” Nile admitted. “I can’t just, show you how to chuck some metal. We don’t have a range or a target-.”

Alex snarled in wordless anger. He tore the large knife out of the holster between his shoulder blades, bringing it down with violent wrath. In three choppy movements, he managed a lopsided circle target carved right into the drywall behind the door. He spun, baring his teeth at a very surprised Nile.

“Okay…” Nile said in partial surprise. “I guess we have a target. Why _exactly _do you want me to show you how to throw pointy objects? Can’t you _literally _ask the guy who is _supposed _to train you?”

“No, he’s too busy training _Julius-.”_

“Julius?” Nile parroted. “Julius Caesar? Alex, you _can’t _stab him in the back-.”

“Just show me how to do this!” Alex said. His voice fractured somewhere through, leaving him feeling lame and helpless. “_Please.”_

Nile stared at him, sympathy or pity or some unidentifiable emotion flickered through. Nile stood slowly, exhaling quickly before he fished around for one of his belts of throwing knives. He drew three, twirling them between his fingers like sharp quarters.

“You _can’t _tell Yassen I’m doing this,” Nile said. “Or he’ll kick my ass, then your ass, then my ass again.”

Nile scratched his neck before sighing and saying something that sounded very much like an Italian curse. He held the knives loosely, rotating through fluid movements and rotations. With one slow pass, he threw a knife and managed just to the left of the center lopsided oval. Another slow pass and Nile’s knife landed _touching _the one prior- the final knife landed cleanly and made a nice horizontal line of gleaming metal.

“There’s a lot of tricks to this,” Nile said quietly. He continued to guide his arm through the movement of throwing, even now that he had no ammunition.

“The side style is a _lot _harder with no experience. You may want to start with an overhand toss- more damage but crude.”

“Show me,” Alex demanded.

* * *

Yassen came back around two in the morning, dropping into his bed with a silent noise.

Alex had been waiting, sitting upright under the blankets. Yassen said nothing, no greetings or questions. The man didn’t even take his shoes off.

“...Did you have a good day?” Alex asked in a whisper, almost afraid to break the quiet.

Yassen made a heavy muffled sigh into the bed. He adjusted, enough for his voice to emerge as a low rumble. “Go to sleep, Aleks.”

Yassen said nothing more that night and had left before Alex woke up.

* * *

He found the guard on top of the western tower, holding binoculars to scour out along the snowy pines. It took some effort to find the man again, there was only so much fumbling and stupidity he could play before Grief caught on that Alex was investigating. The guard had bleached and dyed his hair.

His eyes were startlingly different as well, meaning he must have somehow gotten colored contacts. A shocking difference to when Alex first saw him, back when James seemed normal.

“Hey,” Alex greeted in a drawing bored voice. The guard scoffed at him, scouring the tree line once again. Alex came to lean on the edge of the tower next to him, glancing around for any guards within eyesight. Alex yawned, stretching dramatically to catch the man’s eye. Then, he tapped his ear twice.

The guard eyed him for a moment, eyes flickering around for anyone within view. When he failed to see another guard, he gave the slightest of nods.

“Cool,” Alex said trying to pretend to feel a bit more confident. Nile hadn’t believed him, and Yassen was busy chasing Julius like a middle school girl. “Guards don’t have black hair.”

The guard didn’t tense, but his frown did deepen. “Who are you, kid?”

Considering there was _another _Alex at the place, he didn’t want to give up his name just yet. “Who are you? Weird guard spying on children…”

The guard looked disgusted before he grunted out: “Daniels.”

Right, like that wasn’t a fake name or anything. “Nice to meet you, Daniels. I’m-” _Not Alex, _“Aleks.”

Daniels frowned, clearly knowing that was just as much a lie. “Fine then _Aleks. _You don’t fit in with the other brats here. Want to tell me your real story?”

Alex shrugged, wishing he had a scarf to nestle into. “My...dad dragged me with him.”

Daniels paused. “Your _dad? _The evaluators?”

Funny, that’s what James thought it was before he changed.

“One of them,” Alex explained. “I got dragged with, these kids...are weird.”

Alex had set the bait. He let the hook hang. The guard clearly wasn’t supposed to be here- but who would listen to a single fourteen-year-old boy when there were armed guards and adults capable of seeing the same thing?

Alex was an opportunity waiting for something to bite.

“Huh,” Daniels said, hanging his wrist over the railing. “You think so?”

“They feel so plastic,” Alex said. “It’s...weird. None of them seem normal.”

“Really, not one of those brats?” Daniels. “Tell me about them.”

_Play it cool. Drag it out. _

“Hugo is nice. James too. Joe is...a bit mean. Nick and Cassian are too nerdy, and Alex is too busy showing off to care.”

_Play it cool, pretend you know what’s going on. _

“Alex huh?” Daniels mused a little too casually. “Hate pricks like that. Seems too good for you?”

Pricks. That was...British.

“All the time. Bloody holier-than-thou aura.”

Daniels barked a laugh, his fingers tapped on the railing. “...So Alex is a douche.”

“The biggest,” Alex sulked. He imagined _Julius’ _slimy face. “I hope he walks into a bloody wall.”

Daniels huffed a silent laugh. He subtly looked over his shoulder, watching out for any threats. “Hey, kid. You like it here?”

_There we are, _Alex thought with a growing sense of dread. _You really are a spy. _ “...Not really.”

“Can’t imagine you would. Feels all the same, too...trapped.”

Alex rolled one shoulder. “I don’t know how to get out, so yeah, I guess it is.”

Daniels’ arms shook under the force of another silent laugh. “I’ve got some rounds to do. Get moving, cub.”

* * *

Alex felt like he had accomplished a lot.

Found a spy, managed to gain a spy’s interest. Managed to hit a target once when hurling a knife. _And _he hadn’t run into Julius.

And then it turned South when he walked, nearly literally, into Grief.

“Oh, slow there my child,” the man murmured in a papery whisper. His hands fastened like clamps over Alex’s shoulders to keep him standing. “Ah, you are the little scorpion.”

Alex recovered as quickly as he could, taking a polite step backward. “Sorry, sir.”

_Don’t look at him. _

Grief smiled a thin sickly quirk of his lips. The carpet matched his eyes. “I’ve heard quite a bit about you, little one.” Grief said in a rasp. “Walk with me.”

Alex obliged, keeping in quiet step to the withered man.

“The other boys appear to be quite taken with you,” Grief mused. “I have heard all good things…”

“From Yassen?” Alex dared ask in a quiet voice.

Grief hummed flatly before he shook his head: “Ah, I am afraid not. The younger, Nile I believe. I have not heard...why, near anything from dear Yassen.”

“Oh,” Alex’s heart dropped.

He didn’t know why he had ever gotten his hopes up.

“Do not look so disappointed, my child,” Grief scolded. “I believe you have exceptional potential. Hugo has yet to stop singing praise…”

“Thank you, sir,” Alex said quietly. “Is there a reason you wanted to talk to me?”

Grief paused, then smiled. “Yes, there is. Walk with me? I have something in my office I would like to offer you.”

Inside his office- the one spot that Nile had been sulking over. They hadn’t managed to get a bug in there. Alex _always _walked with a bug.

Who would ever expect a child to be a spy?

They walked down the hallway, a slower pace than Alex wanted. They saw no other bodies, no other souls. Only the dozens of snarling animal heads, peering from their plastic bones. Snarling muzzles, resin eyes. One snarling coyote seemed to look right into Alex’s mind, demanding in a sharp growl: _bark._

The hearth burned bright and cozy in Grief’s office. The gilded armchairs glowed from the fire. Grief settled gently into one chair, sighing heavily in relief. Alex went to the other, careful not to look too long at the zebra rug. Its head grotesquely attached, a poor patched spot on its forehead that looked a bit like a disguised bullet hole.

“How curious you are,” Grief said. “A little Scorpio…”

“Actually I’m an Aquarius.”

Grief stared at him from behind his thick glasses. “You would make a wonderful Gemini.”

“Thanks, I think,” Alex said. He awkwardly shuffled his feet to walk about the office, fumbling with things. A decorative statue, a plume of feathers, a walrus tusk. Grief watched him with differing amounts of amusement.

“I wondered if your...mentor had discussed our precarious situation at hand,” Grief sighed. “Such a wonderful thing...reuniting family. You see, Alex come into our care through the deferral of various juvenile facilities. It was only coincidence we took him under our wing- and dear Yassen found him once more.”

_They’re related. _Alex stared motionlessly at what appeared to be an anaconda skull on a shelf.

_Julius is related to Yassen._

That explained everything. It explained why Alex had hoped so stupidly and already knew he’d lost. It explained why Julius always seemed to know, that Alex could never compete.

He couldn’t, not really. He couldn’t compete with family- with...Yassen’s Jack.

Alex was nothing, just a random kid Yassen grabbed along the way. Thrown into plans too big for him, a world that hadn’t carved a spot with Alex at Yassen’s side.

_I wish Ian were here. _Alex thought to himself. _I don’t know what to do._

“Oh, do not look so upset, my child.” Grief consoled him gently. “It is a beautiful thing. Beautiful, but so terribly sad. Like the parting of…an old pet. That bitter ache from losing a part of you.”

_Bark, bark, _Alex thought hysterically.

“I had considered a…program of sorts. It would be cruel to tear apart family so soon,” Grief said.

“Right,” Alex spoke blandly. The bug in his pocket felt heavy but… he was tired and exhausted. Was this even his job? Had Yassen been entertaining him all along?

_I don’t belong here. _Alex realized, fumbling with the cold metal. Alex nodded jerkily and said: “That...wouldn’t be right.”

“You see? Just an unfortunate event, truly.” Grief soothed. “You are always welcome to stay here, dear Alex.”

Alex didn’t know how that would work. Yassen once said that the sponsor system was different; Alex would be moved to someone else. A different operative, or a different spy. **SCORPIA **would gain custody of him, like a divorced parent and Yassen was his absent father.

Somehow…somehow Nile had been brought in. Which meant that whatever school Grief was running had enough sway to call in an agency to begin with. Would Nile leave once Yassen did?

Could Alex be...left here? Dropped behind? Would he have to shuffle around Nile, always working at his desk? Would Alex end up sitting in the corner like a scolded child?

_Yassen has passed over you, _a horrible traitorous part of his brain said. _He’s picked a different Alex. _

_A better Alex. _

“You said you had something for me, sir?” Alex asked in a quiet voice.

Grief smiled. “Ah, yes. The second drawer on the left, my boy. There is a scholarship for you if you would like. You are a light to us in a way no student has been before. It would be an honor to further your education, Alexander.”

Alex opened the drawer and slipped the bug out of his pocket. He pressed it to the exterior backing of the drawer. Nobody would find it there, not in such a precise location.

The manila folder Grief told him to find peeled open easily. Alex stood blinking at his own picture. He didn’t remember taking it, but the chair and seat looked like the boat Yassen first signed their paperwork in.

The paperwork Yassen sent ahead.

_Yassen gave him this, _Alex concluded. _He has his permission._

It felt like the worst betrayal Alex could imagine.

“Thank you, sir,” Alex said quietly, trying to keep himself together. Grief smiled at him adoringly and bid him goodnight.

Alex left holding the folder in a clenched fist. He couldn’t imagine this, he couldn’t _believe this._

He turned the corner towards the stairwell and froze in the dim glow of the fireplace.

“Hi there,” the other Alex said. The boy turned to face him fully, hands shoved in his pockets.

His smile reflected fire, eyes glowing red in the dark. “Take a seat?”

“I’m not sure I want to.”

“A pity,” Alex clicked, pointing at the lone chair next to the fire. “Take a seat, Aleks.”

Alex flinched. What felt like an endearing nickname came out butchered and foul in the boy’s mouth. Alex found himself moving, taking a seat as the fire crackled merrily.

“See, we’re at a bit of an issue here,” Alex said with a mock sigh of disappointment. “From what I’ve heard, you seem to think you’ll steal my dad from me.”

Alex flinched. “I’m not-.”

The boy leaned in with a menacing smile. “Did I tell you to speak? Then leave the talking to the _valuable people.”_

Alex’s face loomed so close, he could count individual pores on his skin. “If you _try _to take Yassen from me, I’ll cut you open and see how long it takes until you die all over the carpet.”

Alex withdrew and smiled pleasantly. Aleks could see the family resemblance.

“I’m glad we’ve had this chat.”

Alex walked with the purposeful stride of a killer. Aleks curled up in a chair watching fire burn and wood splinter. He watched it until the log burned down to a smolder.

Aleks eventually struggled to his feet, walking the stairs to his room. The building was sleepy, quiet. A dozen heads watched him from the walls.

Aleks slipped inside and slid the door shut behind him. He kicked off his shoes on autopilot, shucking off the sweater and the knife between his shoulder blades. His shoulder itched from scar tissue, for the first time ever Alek felt ashamed of it.

“Aleks?” Yassen asked in the dark. His voice inquisitive, a bit perplexed by the boy’s flat affect. “What is wrong?”

_‘Just this once,’ _the traitorous part of Alex’s mind urged. _‘Let’s try this again.’_

Alex complied, wriggling over and into Yassen’s bed whilst the man lay unprepared.

_‘Just for tonight.’ _Alex thought, snuggling until he could feel Yassen’s warmth. The man slept under a thin sheet, his body shrouded in long sleeves. Somehow, sliding in to Yassen’s bed felt obscene.

“You are distressed,” Yassen said. His voice gravel and low, vibrating bass through Alex’s back. “What has bothered you so?”

_‘You’re going to give me up,’ _Alex wanted to tell him. _‘You’re lying to me.’_

Alex snuggled in closer and pretended he was shivering from the cold. “Can I stay here?”

Yassen stiffened, unprepared for how to proceed. “There is a bed-.”

“Just…” Alex closed his eyes and choked back a whine. “Please.”

Yassen fell silent, overwhelmed. A few seconds passed silently, marked by twin heartbeats.

The man carefully reached around Alex and found a thicker comforter near the wall. He pulled, dragging it up and over his smaller ward.

The weight settled around them both. Then, Yassen’s arm drifted under both blankets to wrap loosely and protectively around Alex’s side.

“I will watch over you,” Yassen said.

_No, you won’t. _Alex thought and fell asleep.

* * *

“You’re getting decent,” Nile said. “Maybe a few weeks more and you’ll be field level.”

Alex didn’t _feel _decent. He kept missing the center target and chewed enough of the outer ring. Nile appeared to summon an unlimited number of knives, which helped a bit.

“How do tokens work?” Alex asked between gritted teeth. “Can you have multiple?”

Nile snorted from the bed. “Tokens are like girlfriends. Get more than one and they’ll kill each other.”

Alex threw the next knife a little too hard. It lodged halfway into the wall, four inches off the mark. “Nile, I’m being serious.”

“You’re no fun,” Nile said. “Tokens are a bit tricky. Not too many agents use them. Basically, you’re his now. He can… give you to someone else, but you’re still _his. _Deep cover, contacts, that sort of things.”

“I’m his,” Alex repeated out loud. He tried to ignore the way his chest warmed. He felt oddly relieved and satisfied. He was wanted- or he had been at one point.

_Bark, bark._

Nile said: “I’m something different. Has Yassen explained the Board to you?”

“No, that would mean Yassen actually _talks _to me.”

Nile looked a bit sheepish. “Yeah… Well, **SCORPIA** has a Board of Directors who operate together as **SCORPIA **itself. My position is that I am the living extension of Julia Rothman, one of the Directors. On-field, I have full jurisdiction as her active will.”

Alex blinked in surprise, knife slacking just a bit. He wheezed out incautiously: “You’re...a vice director?”

“Oh no- not at all. I’m a bit like...Director Rothman’s token. Without the weird possessiveness and better pay.”

What weird possessiveness? Yassen had only given Alex new clothes, and gear, and somewhere to live, and injected him with a chip-

_‘Oh,’ _Alex thought a bit dazed. _‘Bark.’_

“Yassen isn’t on the board, or in my position,” Nile explained. “Yassen is...well, _technically, _he was a token. Brought in by an agent when he was a kid. His sponsor died almost instantly, and he’s been with **SCORPIA** since.”

Oh, now Alex felt like a dick.

“He was shifted around a bit. His sponsor became an agent called Hunter,” Nile said, eyes flickering to the door to be safe. “Hunter is dead now. Hunter basically...brought up Yassen. Hunter also is the birth father of Alex- which is why Yassen has been with him. They’re practically family.”

“Oh,” Alex said. “Yassen and this Alex…is like brothers? Or weird nephew?”

“I have no idea, but Yassen is smitten with the kid.”

“So he’s going to bring him with us?” Alex asked.

Nile’s eyes widened and his mouth creased into a deep line. His eyebrows curved downwards as he recognized the problem. “...throw more knives, kid.”

* * *

Daniels found him outside near the ski jump, huddling in the cold where Julius didn’t go since Yassen didn’t bother.

“Hey kid,” Daniels said while frowning. “You look...bad.”

“Yeah,” Alex said bluntly.

Daniels was a spy, who was far too interested in Julius, who apparently was the son of Yassen’s mentor. Alex asked him :“Can you get me out of here?”

Daniels paused. He sighed through his nose. “Depends. Can you tell me what’s going on?”

Alex ground his teeth together. He was frustrated and hurt and angry. “You want to know about Alex, don’t you?”

Daniels froze. For a spy, he was shite at it.

“You’re only interested in him,” Alex accused. _Everyone loves Julius._ “He’s a crack shot with a gun. A dick with the personality of a toadstool. He’s the kid of a dead man called Hunter.”

Daniels cursed low, a subtle British accent sliding in. “Fuck, _fuck. _Okay, this...we’ll get you out of here.”

“How?” Alex asked. “A helicopter? A snowboard? There isn’t any way off this goddamn mountain-.”

“Then we’ll storm it,” Daniels grimaced. “Listen, kid, we _can _get you out.”

They would _storm it? _Oh god, they had a unit. An assault unit. To get Yassen’s kid.

“Who _are _you?”

“I….” Daniels hesitated. “Who are you to this Alex kid?”

“I hate him,” Alex vowed, realizing in that exact moment that he did, truly hate him. “I want him gone.”

“Okay,” Daniels affirmed. “I’m with a British Secret Service. We’ll get you out of here.”

MI6.

_Fuck._

“Oh wow,” Alex breathed. “You’re really the cavalry.”

Daniels snorted dryly, motioning towards the empty white expanse of snow. There was nothing here, but rocks and ice and the blinding sun bouncing off the ground.

“Trust me kid, you’ve got nothing to worry about. Think you can help me with this? Be brave and play spy for me? Just like James Bond.”

Alex flexed his legs to prevent a quiet snarl at the thought. MI6 had no idea who he was. Here they were, trying to snatch him up like nothing had changed. They truly were horrible to the core.

“Do I get a cool gadget?” Alex asked.

Daniels grinned, fumbling around in his pockets for _something- _he handed Alex a fountain pen.

“Be careful with it,” Daniels murmured, eyes sharp and serious. “That’s the best of Queen and Country. The ink melts metal, the cap can handle four hundred kilos, and the bottom has a beacon. You need help, you twist it four times counterclockwise, got it?”

“Bloody hell.”

Did MI6 operate entirely like this? Using devices that Alex wouldn’t look twice at?

“You got it?” Daniels asked sternly. “Four twists, and I’ll find you and get you out.”

Alex accepted the pen, utterly dazed. “Is- is Alex dangerous then?”

“Classified, sorry kid. Watch yourself.”

Then the agent turned and started on his rounds. Trying to stay undercover. Just like Alex was.

How many other agents were here? How had Daniels incorporated his team? How had nobody spotted Nile or Yassen yet? Or _had _they?

Julius was their target, and Julius latched on to Yassen like an angler fish. If Alex was lucky, maybe Julius would melt onto Yassen just like wild angler fish.

The pen felt like a guilty plea in his pocket; useful and foreign and very much wrong. Foul. If Alex was lucky, Nile would listen to him and finally pay attention to Alex’s fears. Julius wasn’t right, none of the boys were right.

_I need to find Nile._

Except Nile wasn’t in his room. Yassen was.

“Oh, hi,” Alex blurted. He felt very off guard with Yassen’s cold mechanical movements.

Yassen ignored him, shucking off his sweater and vest for something else. Alex spotted the dark bruises, misshapen grey masses in the process of turning faint brown. Not deep, but...startling.

“You were injured?” Alex asked.

Yassen made a noise. Something dismissive in tone and style. “Combat practice.”

Yassen had never offered Alex to spar. He hadn’t ever invited Alex to combat practice. Alex knew damn well that Nile wasn’t the one throwing punches. “Oh.”

Yassen looked at him, evaluating him. Yassen paused his movements. “You’re upset.”

“I- yeah,” Alex stammered. He had to choke his insults and remarks because- _Julius? Really? _“It’s…MI6-.”

“Are not a threat,” Yassen said coldly. His expression darkened, the light in his eyes fading until Alex felt like everything in the room had turned dark. He looked like a stranger- like an animal.Yassen looked ferocious. Capable of wringing Blunt’s neck and feeling no regret. “I will not allow MI6 to intervene.”

Alex closed his mouth. He let his breath leave him, and all his words and argument died.

“Have you met Alex, Aleks?” Yassen inquired. ,

He shifted the pronunciation ever so slightly until the accented name sounded and felt entirely different. His nickname, given in the hazy curtain of sleep and vulnerability. _His _nickname.

Yassen said: “He is much like you.”

“Are you going to take him after this?”

“I will not leave Alex here,” Yassen said. He never looked in Alex’s direction. “I refuse to leave him. I will _not _allow MI6 to steal him away.”

Alex should have told him. He should have let Yassen know a MI6 spy already loomed in their shadows.

Instead, Alex stepped aside lamely and watched Yassen finish dressing. The man pulled on a long sleeve protective detail. He was going shooting again.

“Do you like him?” Alex blurted. “Alex?”

It felt wrong to call Julius that. Alex had been there first, _he _was the real one to Yassen- but no.

Aleks was nothing now because this new perfect boy had come along, and Alex was everything Yassen had wanted. He was just a replacement.

“...Yes,” Yassen said in a measured voice. “It is my duty to protect him. I was unable to do so before. I must correct my failures.”

There was a lump growing in Alex’s throat, thick and sore. “Would you hurt someone for him?”

“Of course,” Yassen said instantly.

Yassen walked past Alex, opening the door to vanish into the long labyrinth of Point Blanc. Alex couldn’t let him go.

“What if he’s dangerous?” Alex stressed., He refused to look at the doorframe. “What if he’s a threat?”

“His father was a threat,” Yassen said. “I intend to make Alex one as well.”

_A threat to you! _Alex wanted to scream.

_He will hurt you!_ but Yassen had already gone.

One by one, Alex found everything slipping from his fingers.

He left the room in a daze, drifting about the hallways on his lonesome until he found another warm body. Joe walked casually, occupied by something he held. When he saw Alex, he set his object of interest aside. Quickly evaluating him, Joe formed a frown. “You look sour.”

“Thanks,” Alex said. “You look pretty bad yourself.”

Joe huffed a bit a tiny smile flickering like a candle. The boy e jerked his head forward: “Come on then. I already heard enough from the others. You know how to fight?”

“Yes?”

“Good. Easiest way to get exercise. Stumbling in the snow gets boring.”

Joe led him towards the stairwell that they climbed higher and higher. Alex thought that the other floors were off-limits. Hadn’t he heard a rule about going above the second floor?

“This way,” Joe said. He led them deeper into the building where it became a bit drafty and uglier with bird heads plastered along the railings.

The two entered what appeared to be a small gym, modified and segmented with industrial mats and exercise machines. It looked like a sports rehabilitation facility Maybe this building _had _been intended for Olympic athletes.

“The others tell you the code names?” Joe asked. A bit stern and aggressive with his questions.

It was easier to call Julius by an alternate name. “Yeah, Hannibal and Nero and Julius.”

Joe gazed at him a little longer before he gave a huff, looking slightly dubious. “I’m Genghis then. Hannibal will be here soon. What sort of fighting do you know?”

It made sense that this boy would know _some _form of fighting since he was related to high-level information. The boy was itching to throw some punches.

Yassen wouldn’t be happy- but Yassen wasn’t _here._

“I’m a black belt,” Alex said, not wanting to elaborate more. “I can do a little boxing. I wanted to get into wrestling.”

Joe considered that for a moment, nodding slowly. “Julius is the best at punching but...well…”

“Yeah, I get it,” Alex said.

Not everyone could be related to famous spies after all.

“Get comfortable, I’ll come after you in a second. I’ve been itching to throw some fists.” Joe smiled a bit ruthlessly, a bit savage on the edges. “I’m getting cooped up in here.”

“I know the feeling.” A good beating was exactly what he needed.

Hugo arrived after two warm-up rounds with Joe. The latter was thick with muscle, throwing about his weight cleanly. Joe moved predictably, startling and struggling to recover when faced with an unexpected movement. Alex took pride in his spontaneity. It always pissed people off.

“Oh wow!” Hugo gasped. He looked very delighted by the fight- more excited when Alex twisted around like Ian once showed him. Using the crux of his knee to pin down Joe’s wrists. Joe thrashed a bit, spitting muffled words into the mat. Alex already felt better with the rush of endorphins. His blood sang and his head felt clearer than it had in days.

Hugo fought...the same. The exact same style of combat altered slightly for the difference in body frame and size. Hugo was smaller, a bit lanky, but moved a significant amount faster. The same punches, the same fake plays. If Alex hadn’t known better, he’d say they had been taught by the same teacher.

But that was impossible. Even if Point Blanc tried to educate the boys in some combat, it would take years to get as competent as they were.

Their endurance was off the charts. Every action could be countered in the same movement.

How had Yassen gotten hit then, if they all moved so similar? Was Julius _that _much better?

Had Yassen been..._teaching _Julius?

“What’s the best thing you’ve got?” Alex panted. He guzzled down half a bottle of water and dumped the rest over his skin. “Fight me with it.”

Hugo alarmed and excited. “Are you sure? Doctor Grief says that-.”

“Do it,” Alex demanded. He didn’t blink at Joe’s much more violent grin. His sadistic curl of his lips. Joe always had seemed a bit intense, maybe this was why.

Joe returned with knives, long kukri blades with edges sheathed in rubber. It would hurt but wouldn’t impale. Unless the rubber guards were knocked off.

They weren’t messing around. Joe, Alex could reason how he knew how to use knives, but the others?

Why did Hugo look calm with them? The only use of knives any dropout should know were decorative twirls. Butterfly knife throwing. This was...these were _real. _Ian hadn’t fought him with knives.

Nile had, and Nile had been teaching Alex how to throw blades.

Joe walked over, plopping comfortably on the ground as he tossed over one of the black metal blades. He held up his own for examination.

“These are kukri,” Joe explained, running his hand along the shape. They looked a bit more ornate, less banana shape and more...sword. “They’re used in Africa. They’re really easy to handle compared to other types of knives.”

“Other types?” Alex asked, judging the weight of his knife. It was heavy and had a long handle. Maybe the weight of a small melon but the thickness of cardboard.

“We have a lot here,” Hugo explained. “Doctor Grief likes to collect all types. I like the sawback hunting sword. You can decapitate pigs with it in two swings.”

“That’s fun,” Alex said. “So we’re going to hit each other with these?”

“Do you _know _how to use knives?” Joe asked dryly. “I’ll show you, but you’ll end up bleeding.”

“That’s the best way to learn. That’s what Ia- my uncle always thought.”

Joe grinned, a lazy look with that damned head tilt. “Then come at me, Alex.”

Joe wasn’t lying. It quickly became clear why his self-selected nickname was Genghis.

He moved like a savage, attacking with no mercy until Alex tapped out to recover. A few seconds later they’d go at it again. Alex was sure that at some point, Joe would just tear the rubber off his knife and try to impale him. Joe didn’t.

Joe was rather considerate with his actions. It didn’t stop him from attacking and hacking, but instead of bashing Alex’s face with the rubber edge he used the flat. Less bruise that way, and less damage.

“You learn fast,” Joe noted curiously. “Creative too.”

“Thanks, you’re not that bad,” Alex said, ducking a wide slash and a following kick. Joe looked amused like Alex had said a joke instead of a compliment.

They kept fighting and slashing until Alex could grab the boy in a headlock, bashing his head into the mats twice.

“Okay, I’m out.” Joe coughed on the ground. “Can’t risk messing up my face.”

“Yeah, nose jobs suck,” Alex said. The faint crack never healed right on _his _face, but Joe looked equally disgruntled.

They took a break, drinking water as Hugo paired up with the alarmed Cassian who clearly hadn’t anticipated Alex to be in the room.

“What is _he-,” _Cassian started, all for Joe to raise one hand lazily.

“It’s cool,” Joe said tiredly. “Alex here is fine. Don’t mind him, Benito is a bit paranoid.”

_Benito. _Why wouldn’t any of them have _normal _nicknames?

“It’s fine,” Alex said. Cassian looked incredibly unsettled by his presence, shooting multiple glances when he thought Alex wasn’t looking.

“So,” Joe said with a yawn. “You’re not that bad. Julius has gotten all…” He trailed off, using his fingers to gesture a mean sign. “You’re better than him.”

Alex tried not to twitch, especially when Hugo made his agreement known.

“Julius has always been a jerk but now he’s just..._arrogant.”_

“Not everyone can be a kid to Yassen,” Alex mumbled sourly.

The irony was not lost, because Cassian gave his own startled giggle. Joe snorted quietly, looking just as bemused as Hugo.

“What’s that like?” Cassian asked curiously. “The child to _Yassen Gregorovich…”_

Was that Yassen’s last name? Alex hadn’t ever asked. It felt like forever ago he cared enough to think about _his _last name- Alex Rider.

Now he was just...Aleks.

“Hard,” Alex said quietly. “He has so many standards, and I feel like I’m never getting there. I’ll never quite fit in.”

Cassian nodded knowingly. “Julius seems well adjusted.”

“Screw Julius, we don’t like him anymore,” Joe advised solemnly. “He’s a jerk now who thinks he’s all hot shit now that he’s got a family.”

Alex wished dearly that he had something to set on fire. Nile always did say he’d fit in with the misfits.

“Who wants to show me how to stab something again?”


	3. Part 3

Julius was omnipotent to his own status because Alex walked into the kitchen the next day he found himself an unwilling participant in a showdown.

Julius waited behind the door so when Alex walked in to get his food, he turned around and found his exit blocked.

Tom and Nicholas at the table noticed the confrontation and searched around the room for the others. Joe looked equally grim-faced- James seemed alarmed by the presence of Julius himself.

“Hi,” Julius greeted delightedly while maintaining eye contact with Alex. “I haven’t seen you in a while. They have tea?”

Alex clutched his single cup of tea (the cheap kind that came in bags) a bit tighter. They had plenty of tea. “They just ran out.”

“Oh, like you were going to?” Julius sighed, clicking his tongue.

He walked forward and tapped on the table. Nicholas looked at Tom. Both boys very smoothly vacated the room. James hurried after, Joe gave a lazy wave before abandoning Alex and all thoughts of safety.

_Thanks, guys, _Alex thought sourly. Alex said: “I saw Yassen put you through the wringer. You must still be aching.”

Julius’ grin slid off his face rather quickly. If he was hoping Alex was going to take shit sitting down, then he was sorely mistaken.

The knife fighting had helped relax Alex, open his mind and make his plan more rational.

Julius was _wanted _by MI6 for something, and Alex would play his cards right to see where he went from there.

“You seem confident,” Julius said lightly. “Should I bash your face in to take away your smile?”

“How bought I break your nose first? I hear it's a pain to get surgery.”

Julius’ face stiffened like rock. “Is it now?”

“Mm,” Alex sipped on his tea. It tasted bad, but Julius didn’t have any, so he counted it as a win. “How’s that chip sitting?”

“Chip?” Julius asked venomously. They started to pace, walking slowly around the long table between them. A flimsy barrier keeping the two wolves apart.

“You know, the chip,” Alex crooned. “The one that means Yassen is taking you on. If you don’t have it well…” Alex shrugged.

He took a sip of tea to hide his laugh. Julius looked stricken.

“Oh dear, look at the time. I’ve gotta get going,” Alex said. He turned on his heel, hoping to walk right out of the room without Julius managing a single word.

“No you don’t,” Julius hissed. He leapt up _over _the table to smash into Alex’s back, sending tea scalding all over them both.

They hit the ground, padded by the velvet carpet. Julius looked furious and panicked under his sneer. He hadn’t known about the chip.

“You better start talking, _street rat,” _Julius spat. He had his hands around Alex’s throat, not quite pressing but getting close.

“How about I don’t?” Alex choked out. “Yassen would be pretty pissed if you hurt me. Since I’m his after all.”

“No, _I’m _his_.”_

“Are you sure about that?” Alex smiled crookedly. “I was just talking the other day to some people about how much of a prick you are. How do you know he’s not just indulging you?”

“_Who?” _Julian hissed like an animal. His thumbs squeezed tighter. “_Who _were you talking with?”

“Nobody you’d know,” Alex wheezed. “Genghis, Hannibal. The usual.”

Julius froze, stiffened so thoroughly Alex wondered if the boy truly was a robot. Julius looked like a corpse posed over him.

He pulled back his arms as if Alex’s skin burned him. “You’re lying.”

“Better watch your back,” Alex rasped out in a laugh. “Or I’ll stab you in it twenty-three times.”

Julius stared at Alex like he had condemned him to an unspeakable fate. Julius snarled wordlessly in rage. Alex laughed, because _this _was who Yassen risked himself for? _This?_

“I hate you,” Julius seethed. If he had a tail, it would have been thrashing back and forth like a viper. “I’ll kill you- _I’ll kill you.”_

Julius said it with a startling amount of certainty. Alex couldn’t stop the guffaw that escaped his throat. Julius flushed red, a mixture of offense and rage. He sneered once, looking close to throttling Alex into the ground- but changed his mind and stormed away quickly.

Alex found himself laughing near hysterically on his back. Just outside the kitchen, where the thick carpet smelled of old garlic. James spotted him in his state- poor little Nero, and helped Alex to his feet.

“I’ve never seen someone stand up to him before,” James said in awe. “He’s going to kill you, you know.”

“I’m not easily missed,” Alex rasped, rubbing his sore throat.

James kept looking at him with a sense of disbelief, like Alex had sprouted wings or pointed ears. Alex knew the expression, it was one that all the other boys reflected in their stares.

Alex didn’t see Julius again, but from what he heard, Julius was furious. Nile threw Alex looks, having heard something along the grapevine. Nile had something he wanted to ask Alex but never quite found the words for it.

It was fine- Alex had Julius under control. Alex could handle an insane brat well enough, he didn’t need anyone’s help.

Daniels approached him a while later to ask basic information and semantics of the buildings. Alex didn’t want to comply, but if he refused then he’d lose all opportunity to know MI6’s plans.

Maybe, if things went well, Yassen would notice how useless Julius was. Julius hadn’t accomplished more than a couple bruises, and Alex had learned knives, infiltration, and subterfuge. Maybe Yassen would come to his senses and drop him.

“We saw someone who you need to watch out for, kid.” Daniels said, trying to sound casual under the tight leash of stress.

Daniels tried to help, but he was just an accident waiting to happen. A desperate animal caught in a trap, willing to chew off its own leg to escape. Alex asked: “Who?”

“An operative who means trouble,” Daniels explained. “His name is Nile. He works on behalf of a **SCORPIA** directive. **SCORPIA** is _very _bad news. You don’t want to get in the crossfire.”

_‘Bad news to MI6, you mean.’ _Alex thought. “Nile? Yeah, I think I’ve heard his name.”

“Stay away from him. If **SCORPIA** is here, it means that this Alex kid is the real deal. Do you think you can bribe him outside?”

“No way in bloody hell!” Alex argued. “I’d get caught instantly!”

Daniels grumbled something sour. He continued asking questions- nothing important and everything useless. Daniels was paranoid, worried, and incredibly afraid of Nile.

MI6 knew that **SCORPIA** was here, which Alex expected to happen. But well...a bit slow, weren’t they?

Yassen needed to know _now _about MI6. Plans be damned. Yassen was his _sponsor, _shouldn’t he be helping?

Yassen was _not _helping, because he was standing dramatically in the rifle range with little innocent Julius.

The range had been made with soundproofing and speakers enabled for communication through the barrier. Directions, instructions without risk of being shot. A similar setup to music recording studios, and to police interrogation rooms.

Alex hid inside the inner booth, sneakily enabling the one-way microphones to listen to the dramatic backstory Julius milked out. Alex thought about having popcorn to go with it- he certainly was salty enough to cover _that._

_“Where will we go after this?” _Julius asked. All bright sounding and optimistic. Not at all the boy who threatened Alex’s life. _“You said you have a boat?”_

_“Yes,” _Yassen said. Yassen paused, evaluating something. Neither had fired a shot in a while. _“It is easiest to travel across international waters without being seen.”_

_“Yeah, it’s rough sneaking around,” _Julius said. Alex wanted to gag- he doubted whatever Julius did was harder than what _he _did. He doubted _Julius _had to drop a water tower and save Yassen’s arse.

_“I do not want you to be involved with SCORPIA. It is not safe.”_

_“What? But that’s not fair! I’m already wanted, you can show me how to actually last!”_

_“This is not up for negotiation.”_

_“You’re going to get me killed!”_

“Good,” Alex mumbled sourly. Julius must really be shit at surviving if he wouldn’t last at all outside the school.

_“Your safety is my main priority. SCORPIA is not an environment to ensure such.”_

_“You don’t want me. You’re going to send me away just like- like-.”_

_“What MI6 did was unfortunate. Their actions do not alter my decision regarding your safety.”_

“Ouch Yassen,” Alex commented, finding wicked glee in Julius’ struggles. Spectating in on Yassen’s sharp arguing with a very bratty child. It hadn’t been nearly this hard to get Yassen to help _him._

_“It’s because of that other boy isn’t it?” _Julius asked. Yassen didn’t respond, and Julius barked a single laugh of disbelief. _“It is! You’re choosing him- Yassen, please. I... I don’t have anything. You can’t just...just leave me for those bastards-.”_

_“MI6 will not find you.”_

_“Well, that doesn’t bloody matter! You’re picking that- that street rat over… I thought you and my dad were…”’_

_“I owe Hunter a debt. I will not change my mind.”_

Alex thought he would have felt victorious at Yassen’s refusal. He didn’t.

Without saying anything further, a gun began to fire target practice. Alex knew Yassen’s signs; the conversation was finished.

* * *

Alex lay sprawled on Nile’s bed, playing with a knife in an only slightly potentially lethal way, when the door opened. Alex stopped halfway to saying greeting when he spotted who walked in- being led by a familiar figure.

“Uh,” Nile said slowly. “That’s a kid.”

Julius scowled and said: “I’m not a kid.”

_He’s a bastard that's what he is. _Alex thought, throwing the knife towards the ceiling again. It arced spun twice before tilting downwards with gravity, plummeting towards Alex’s face.

“Behave, Alex,” Yassen said in a low voice. Yassen observed Alex on the bed with sharp eyes before he pointedly reached out and caught the knife handle first a half meter above Alex. “You will lose an eye like that.”

“I see the point,” Alex said because he was a little shit. Nile at chuckled a bit.

Julius looked around the room curiously, poking the destroyed plaster of Nile and Alex’s throwing knife accuracy. Little bits of dust poofed out as the boy wriggled his fingers into the wall. “The Doctor will be really mad about that.”

“We’ll bribe him off, doesn’t matter,” Nile said, scribbling something on his papers. Alex didn’t want to ruin Nile’s secrecy by explaining it was a word search puzzle.

“Why is he here?” Alex asked blandly. Julius glared, Alex flipped him off.

“Hey, stop that,” Nile said, frowning at the blatant hostility. “Yassen, control your children.”

Yassen’s hand wrapped around Julius’ jacket, lifting him slightly like a kitten. His other hand grabbed Alex’s longer hair and twisted slightly. “Behave.”

Alex wondered if he could kick Julius in the ribs from his angle.

“So, why is he here?” Nile asked. “I’m assuming the forms…?”

“Yes,” Yassen agreed. “I want to run tertiary checks.”

“You’re being awfully paranoid about this,” Nile muttered. He set aside his papers, starting a search in his stack of papers- mostly crossword puzzles. “I did an electronic back run, managed a few accounts. I got hospital records from a while ago and want to cross them with an X-ray-.”

“The papers, Nile,” Yassen said. Nile’s face twitched slightly. He looked displeased that Yassen shut him down that quickly. Julius looked baffled, even as Yassen accepted the papers and thrust one set before Julius’ face. “Complete this.”

“Uh, okay?” Julius asked baffled. “Why?”

“You as well, Aleks,” Yassen said. He handed over an identical stack of papers. Alex accepted them numbly. He felt a bit freaked over the suddenness of the situation.

“Afterwards, Alex, meet us within Doctor Grief’s office.”

_Oh, _Alex thought horrified. _Oh, they’re finalizing it._

“Okay?” Julius accepted the pen Nile chucked at his head, shrugging casually.

Alex quietly followed him out the doorway and into the adjacent room. He took his spot on his usual bed. Julius’s confused expression shifted into a snarl now under the privacy of closed doors.

“Hello there, rat,” Julius crooned. “We meet again.”

Alex didn’t want to start chaos, not with Nile and Yassen next door. The papers were self-explanatory, easy. He said nothing and refused to respond. Julius frowned displeased at his mutism.

Alex was halfway through them when he spotted a slight movement from the corner of his eye. He turned to see what exactly-.

* * *

Alex woke up slowly; he felt hazy and disoriented. His head hurt like someone’s poor attempt at breaking open a walnut. Everything in his vision seemed to swirl.

Alex was in his bed, wrapped up in his velvet blankets. A tightness around his wrists put strain on his shoulders.

“What the hell?” Alex mumbled in the quiet of the bedroom. He thrashed about in the blankets. “Julius? Julius!”

He was alone in the room, wrapped up and _handcuffed._

_Where did he get these? _Alex thought to himself, flailing one way than the other.

The restraints were secured tightly with no hope of escape. What had happened?

Julius and he were in the room to sign papers...and- and then they were supposed to meet in Grief’s office to finalize something…

Finalizing Alex staying behind, and Julius going with Yassen.

“Did he bloody knock me out?” Alex slurred. He began to struggle once again.

“That _bastard.”_

He really, really hated Julius.

_Think Alex_.

He didn’t know how long he had been stuck here. If he told Yassen about Julius attacking him later, it wouldn’t matter if they made a contract. Alex needed to get out _now._

He had a dozen lockpicks in the room, but standard handcuffs worked on the three-tuner system and took serious effort to break out of. He didn’t want to challenge **SCORPIA** handcuffs with dusty hairpins.

Alex wiggled, feeling an obvious shape in his pants pocket. _The pen._

Daniels had said that the pen ink could melt metal- time to see if the man was right. Alex fumbled the pen out of his trousers. He managed to get the cap off behind his back.

The pen nib felt wet with ink- he scribbled the best he could behind his back all over the thinnest point of the chain. It hissed alarmingly, frothing a waxy foam- then the handcuffs fell away like hot Sodder.

“Sweet,” Alex whispered.

The door had been locked- nothing he couldn’t fix by shoving the pen nib directly into the keyhole. The knob bubbled and frothed like a primary school baking soda volcano. The door swung open easily.

Alex ran as fast as he could through the halls, still feeling disoriented. Vertigo switched up gravity, leaving Alex careening into one warthog head that stuck out too far. Alex cursed, stumbling fast as quickly as he could. He couldn’t let Julius endanger Yassen.

The office of Doctor Grief opened under one of his fists. He burst in flushed and furious.

Nile looked slightly alarmed, eyebrows raising in a silent question. Julius stared at him, composed and blank-faced. Yassen frowned a bit, making a crease under his eye.

“Ah, hello my boy,” Doctor Grief greeted gently. “Take a seat, Alex here mentioned you were feeling ill and decided to remain behind.”

_What a bloody snitch. _“I’m fine, just needed a moment.”

Alex stumbled forward, finding his chair next to Nile with minuscule struggle. Nile steadied him, grip a little tight.

“As we were discussing,” Doctor Grief said, resuming the conversation as if Alex had never barged in. “You plan to remove Alex and place him in witness protection until a time in which MI6 has withdrawn their efforts.”

“Yes,” Yassen said flatly. “MI6 is capable of being fooled. We currently lack information pertaining to their operations.”

“Rest assured, they won’t find him,” Nile smoothed, trying to look social.

Alex’s head hurt far too much. Julius looked far too pleased.

“Then we will exchange,” Grief determined. “Alex will follow you to a safe house, and _this _Alex will remain here for your retrieval-.”

“What? No!” Alex blurted feeling incredibly overwhelmed. “I don’t- _Yassen _no.”

Yassen didn’t look at him. The man had eyes only for Grief. “MI6 will likely investigate further-.”

“MI6 is already _here!” _Alex shouted. He tried to stand up, stumbling on shaky legs and asshole gravity. “They- they want _him _and…”

Nile’s expression sharpened into that of iron. “What did you say?

“I…” Alex faltered under the smoldering heat of Nile’s serious evaluation. “I said they’re here. They’ve been wanting to- to storm this place for _him.”_

“Look, do you have a _problem _with me?” Julius snapped. “Because you’re acting like a _child. _There are bigger things at hand. Grow up, won’t you?”

“_Excuse me?” _Alex spluttered. “Me? Why don’t _you _back off for _one bloody second.”_

“Stop, both of you,” Yassen ordered.

They fell silent.

“MI6 is here, correct Aleks?” Yassen clarified. Alex nodded. Yassen continued: “They are aware of our movements. They will likely press their perceived advantage when we show signs of departing. Their objective is Alex-.”

“Then why don’t we let them get me?” Julius asked, jerking his chin up. “You _just _said you don’t have anyone on the inside. Why don’t you throw me in then? Let me figure out what they’re doing. Let me help you!”

“It’s not safe-.”

“If this will help you, then I’ll do it,” Julius said gravely. “Either you let me do this _with _your help, or I’ll run out of here right now.”

“I won’t let you.”

“Jesus Christ,” Nile muttered into his hands. “This is a shit show.”

“They will not stop searching for you,” Yassen said sternly. “Any attempts to further yourself will fail. MI6 is not to be trusted or toyed with. They have killed many and will kill you.”

“I don’t care!” Julius cried. “Let me at them. I want to help you, I don’t _care _what they’d done to me- I... I just want to _help.”_

Nile sighed heavily and leaned back in his chair. Doctor Grief looked equally baffled by the situation. Alex wished that Julius hadn’t taken his knife holster off him when he tied him up. Otherwise Alex would be picking out dirt from chewed nails. Maybe he could snag one of the knives from Nile’s side bandoleers.

“You cannot help,” Yassen said. “This conversation is over. They will never stop searching for you, Alex Rider.”

Alex froze.

“I’m sorry what did he just say?” Alex asked Nile quietly. “_What _did he just _say?”_

Nile blinked quickly. “You didn’t miss anything important, Yassen’s just being his normal rock self.”

Alex Rider.

Yassen had called Julius _Alex Rider._

_‘No,’ _Alex thought in cold shock. _‘It isn’t mind control.’_

James had seemed so normal then he completely transformed.

They all appeared so perfect, and so wrong in other ways. The same movements- the way that Hugo and Tom and Joe all had the same smile. The same punching style.

The _same head tilt._

_‘It isn’t mind control,’ _Alex thought with a dumb sort of clarity.

_‘They’re the same. They’re the exact same.’_

There was a reason that Julius- cruel bastard Julius, could pass as his _brother._

Doctor Grief hadn’t enough reference material for what Alex looked like. Alex’s yearbook photos. The sports photograph Jack’s Facebook.

Alex to the rest of the world, was a kid that mysteriously vanished. And a globally high position of power wanted him.

Somehow, _somehow, _they had made copies of all of the boys. The son of a man in the pentagon. The child of a diamond miner.

Androids? Plastic surgery? Were they even _human?_

Julius wasn’t a person.

Julius was the bastard attempt at _him._

_All without knowing who Alex was._

“Oh shite,” Alex breathed in a strained broken voice.

Julius was Alex Rider, but Alex Rider was _Aleks._

“You okay?” Nile asked him in a low voice. “You look rough.”

That was why Julius kept trying to stop him from getting close to Yassen. Because it _was _a freak coincidence- but everything lined up. 

Ian- working for MI6. Ian dying so suddenly, Alex’s parents dying when he was born. MI6 told him that Ian had died in a car crash- but Ian always wore his seatbelt. Ian had been killed by an assassin.

His parents had been- his _dad, _John Rider, was _Hunter._

“I need a second,” Alex muttered, leaning heavily on his chair. Holy shit.

_Holy shit._

“I’m saying, that I can _help!” _Julius _still _argued. “You don’t have any eyes on the inside. I can push what they did aside if you let me help-.”

“I’m sorry what did you just say?” Alex said. He felt- he-. “Did you just say that you can _push aside what MI6 did?”_

Julius blinked in surprise at having been interrupted. His focus changed, his mouth opening to argue. Alex couldn’t think, he had never felt so enraged in his life.

“How dare you,” Alex spat vehemently. “How _dare you _say that.”

“I am sick of you,” Julius growled. “Don’t you understand? You’re nothing. You _know _nothing.”

Alex knew everything.

_He _had been the one to hear the news that Ian wasn’t coming home.

_He _was the one to deal with the incessant phone calls. _He _was the one to break into Blunt’s office, and escape.

_He _was the one who watched Jack get deported and get shuffled into foster care-.

He was Alex bloody _Rider, _and this copy was _garbage._

“Right,” Alex said smoothly. He felt so furious, his anger couldn’t be conveyed through shouting. “Tell me this- what are you going to say to Blunt when you see him next?”

Julius smiled like the monster he is: “I’ll say I forgive him.”

_Never._

Alex grabbed one of Nile’s knives from his bandoleer- and threw it across the table. Yassen quickly responded, managing to catch the blade- but Alex had already hauled himself up and over the table to slam Julius into the ground.

“How _dare you!” _Alex shrieked, wrapping his fingers tight around Julius’ throat. “After _everything _he’s done!”

“Oh fuck off,” Julius gasped. Julius reversed his grip and punched Alex across the tender spot of his skull. “You’re _useless!”_

“You’re the useless one!” Alex shouted. He wanted to giggle, already he felt the weeks of terror and stress wash aside under his hands. All of that, all his worrying- for _nothing. _“You’re a bloody _fraud!”_

Yassen stood and prepared to intervene with the fight. The man stilled at the loud sound of a gun cocking. Yassen turned his head very slowly.

“Nile,” Yassen said calmly. “Think about what you’re doing.”

“Sorry Cossack,” Nile grimaced. “I’m superior ranking. I’m acting in extension of the Board. In order of **SCORPIA **direct, you are ordered to stand down. You have been rationally compromised and are emotionally connected to the operation. Your intervention will be considered defection. All necessary procedures will be enacted.”

Yassen’s eyes widened ever so slightly. His body tensed, locked in place. Yassen looked at Nile as if he had never seen the man before.

Julius laughed and curled inwards. He tore away brutally, spitting blood and meat from where he tore it out of Alex’s shoulder. The hole gleamed dark with shiny muscle, a deep ways into the junction of Alex’s neck and shoulder.

Alex shrieked, flailing about as he scrambled with his fingers. His manifested desperation to keep Julius’ face away from his tender throat. Alex’s nails hooked along Julius’ lip, tearing it up. Ripping across a nostril, plunging into one gelatinous eye. Julius began to scream.

“You would _never _forgive Blunt!” Alex roared, rolling on red carpet. “Not after Jack! Not after Ian!”

“Grow the fuck up, you defect!” Julius snarled. He cared little for the grotesque wounds spread across his face. “The real world doesn’t work like that!”

“You don’t know what the real world is, _Julius!” _Alex countered.

Alex clawed his hands higher, plunging deep into the nearest point he could. His fingers scooped and tore what he _thought _was an eye. It was too hard to tell, what with half of Julius’ face sheered off in flapping skin.

“You have _no _idea what I would do,” Julius swore. He looked like a monster, bleeding viciously and baring pink stained teeth. “You have no idea what Alex Rider would-.”

Alex punched Julius in the face, just like Ian showed him. “You sure about that, copy-cat? You sure you know Alex Rider? Better get that eye checked- you’re looking _right at him!”_

“Holy fuck,” Nile realized. His gun still held steady even during his epiphany. Nile turned his gun quickly, shifting his target to aim directly at Doctor Grief. The man froze in his chair.

“I should have killed you when I had the chance,” Julius snarled. He struggled back, staggering to his feet. One bloody hand snatched a letter opener off of Grief’s desk. Alex grabbed the decorative walrus tusk from the wall plaque. Julius tried to stab forward, and Alex lifted the bone with a twist just as Nile mentioned.

The blade caught in the hollow bone, wrenched away from Julius’ grasp when Alex chucked the tusk into the corner of the room.

“You are a goddamn fraud,” Alex sneered. “I’m _never _going to let you hurt Yassen.”

Julius attacked him. They tussled along the ground, rolling back and forth with their fighting. Julius was the stronger and more coordinated of the two, but the gash out of Alex’s shoulder had bled so much it worked as lubricant. Julius tried to kill him, but his movements were the same as Joe (_Genghis) _and James _(Nero). _

Alex managed to get away, only for Julius’ patience to wear thin. Even with one eye, Julius aimed properly and sunk his fingers into the open wound of Alex’s neck. He crooked them like a butcher’s hook, hauling him up and choking him while standing.

“This is it, _rat,” _Julius giggled. He finally had shed his layers and masks and plastic surgery. His fingers crooked about, seeking and searching in the gaping hole.

_My carotid, _Alex thought as his vision blacked out from pain. Julius was trying to tear out his throat from the inside.

“There’s a good-boy!” Julius laughed. Warped and foul with blood coating his tongue-

_Bam!_

Alex dropped to the floor. Julius’ corpse dropped onto him. Alex breathed shakily. His heart stilled just enough so Alex could turn his head to the side. Yassen holstered his firearm.

Doctor Grief let out a noise; something shuddering that could have been a sob- if not for how normal he looked. Grief bowed in mourning, a moment of silence. He composed himself before he looked at Nile.

“Alex,” Nile said from the other side of the table. His eyes didn’t waver away from his target once. “Are you okay?”

Alex let himself thump back onto the carpet. “I’m a bloody mess. Fought off a doppelganger. A man after my own heart.”

“Not the time for puns, champ. Hang in there.”

Alex finally let himself give a tiny hysterical giggle. His throat hurt beyond words.

“What was the deal with the fakes?” Nile demanded coldly. Grief gulped slightly, looking down in quiet dismay. He said nothing. Nile snarled: “Talk faster and you’ll die quicker.”

“They were copies,” Alex moaned. “Really _really _damn good ones. The boy- James. He was normal...got replaced.”

“By _what?” _

“My child,” Doctor Grief breathed. “He was so perfect.”

“He had a lazy shot,” Yassen said quietly. “He had no luck.”

The first thing he spoke since he put his gun away. The man looked…different. Overwhelmed, or perhaps so exhausted and tired he couldn’t show anything at all. There was hurt in there somewhere- hiding under all the ballistics armor. He thought he had murdered Alex Rider. “He was fast. Talented. Lacked Hunter’s heart. Too brutal. Too cruel. An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth.”

“Yassen,” Nile said between clenched teeth. “Not time for the fucking jokes.”

Doctor Grief jerked his chin out defiantly. There was something in his red eyes Alex couldn’t help but find familiar. An emotion with a name he couldn’t remember.

Alex managed to haul himself into a sitting position, slapping one hand over his wound. “The others, they’re all copies. Julius was _its _name. They had second names- like Genghis, Nero, Hannibal-.”

“We thought you would join us,” Doctor Grief hissed viciously. Alex finally realized the emotion he hadn’t been able to identify. Doctor Grief looked devastated by betrayal. “You seemed so perfect, a _perfect _anomaly. All along, you were the unknown mirror of my greatest achievement.”

“Your greatest achievement is staining the goddamn carpet,” Nile said. “Talk now, or I’ll shoot you.”

Doctor Grief closed his eyes, looked upwards and shook his head.

_Bam. _

* * *

“I can’t believe the absolute disaster of this entire mission,” Nile said. He had been mumbling to himself while he tore apart the room in a storm. Alex sat on the bed, feeling numb to what had happened.

“Dealing with one idiot is easy- I mean, I deal with new recruits. But _killing the boss? _Jesus Yassen, I said I admired you not that I want to _be you-.”_

“That was one time,” Yassen defended. Nile laughed a bit cruelly and flipped him off. Yassen averted his eyes in uncharacteristic guilt.

Nile destroyed the bedroom, only sparing Alex a single long look before he left him on the bed.

The sheets and blankets had been stripped and lobbed into one big pile that would be destroyed. No hair to be found. Alex sat in a sad lump near the back wall, staring at his bloodied fingernails. He liked to chew his fingernails, so they were fractured and only needle long. The blood had been pushed far under, spreading below the nailbed. He couldn’t quite get all the goop out.

“Be useful, _Yassen,” _Nile snarled furiously. He shoved the blankets into the other man’s chest. “Go get rid of these.”

Yassen wordlessly obeyed, vanishing out of the room. Yassen had already disassembled his and Alex’s room.

Nile wilted in the absence of Yassen. With a heavy sigh he looked at Alex with something akin to pity. “How are you holding in, champ?”

“Peachy.”

Nile set the last bits of his things down before he plopped next to the smaller boy. After a second, Nile leaned into Alex’s side pointedly. A warm grounding presence. He said: “I’m sorry. I really am.”

“Yeah well,” Alex said a bit salty. “I tried to tell you that the kids here were wrong.”

“To be fair, I’ve never heard of an evil clone.”

Alex shrugged. They stared at the wall. The silence felt uncomfortable but the idea of talking felt even more ominous. The physical contact was...nice.

“He was a pretty shitty clone,” Nile mumbled quietly. “I found some pictures online, where this Rider kid- I mean you- I- _anyways. _Apparently broke his- _your, _ankle and messed the bone up. Al- _Julius _didn’t have a mark,” Nile said. He paused before huffing out a quiet: “_Shit.”_

Alex couldn’t help the tiny giggle of hysteria at the entire situation. “That bloody hurt. Tom- my mate, didn’t shut up about it forever. He drew all over my cast.”

Nile inhaled sharply. He dropped his head into his hands. “Your _goddamn ankle. _I even _tested you _and I _knew _you had a bad ankle.”

“In your defense,” Alex said. “The evil clone thing was a bit of a stretch.”

Nile laughed. He briefly wrapped one arm around Alex to squeeze ever so carefully. Nile let go and stood, smiling sadly before he started to messily arrange the room once more.

“We have a plan, well, a contingency plan,” Nile said. “That spy, Daniels, right? Well, he knows I’m here, so we’ll make it look like I got pissed off and pulled a Yassen.”

“Pulled a Yassen?”

“Murdered the boss, it happens all the time with Yassen. Weird morals on that guy. _Anyways, _we’ll rig the scene. You pull the warning, make it look like I snapped and started killing off the clones. MI6 thinks Alex Rider is officially dead, and we’re off Scott free.”

“Right,” Alex said staring at the wall still. “Nile, would Yassen have killed me?”

“No. I don’t know how to convince you, but he wouldn’t have. Just think about this mission. Sit there, look pretty, and we’re done with this.”

“That easy?” Alex asked.

“That easy,” Nile promised.

* * *

It was that easy.

The hardest part ended up being how to arrange the corpses in such a way it looked natural. The bullet holes were obscured by the grotesque puncture of Nile’s short swords. Alex knew that you could hear bones break from a distance but stabbing into a skull sounded weirdly like crunching ice.

Alex didn’t need to change his clothes. They were still covered in blood.

Julius looked strange, dead.

Alex hadn’t ever seen a dead body. He imagined Ian a few times, but in a casket, all puckered with preservatives and glue. Julius looked...strange. He wasn’t sleeping, not with the deep abyss and clear gel that oozed out from his eye socket. His nostril had torn so badly from Alex’s thrashing, that he could see the pinkish cartilage. Lips a similar story, tattered from claw marks and revealing the two-prong roots of a tooth. Alex could count his pores. The last time they had been this close, Julius had choked him outside the kitchen.

Julius was dead. There was no disguising it.

Alex felt in a daze, yet Nile and Yassen moved with efficiency suggesting death had long since become simple to them. They knew death, dealt with death. Brought death.

Julius’ skull fragments had gotten stuck to the zebra rug, the one with the taxidermy patched bullet hole. Julius’ brain looked a bit like overcooked oats.

“Alex, you with us?” Nile asked him slow and steady. Gentle in his movements, trying to hide the brain-stained sword in his left hand. “You ready to get to work?”

Julius looked like a mirror of Alex. A picture taken in dim lighting or passed off on an older cell phone. Alex could have taken a picture and sent it to Tom and his friend would think he died.

“Yeah,” Alex said. “I’m ready.”

Nile gently helped Alex the best he could, shifting him appropriately and drawing his blade over the scabbed wound of his shoulder. The weak platelets splintered away like amber. Alex began to bleed sluggishly.

Julius’ body was fresh, still in the stages before rigor mortis. Had it only been a handful of minutes?

Alex pulled out the pen Daniels gave him. Under Julius’ weight, Alex twisted it around until he felt a tiny pop somewhere deep inside the mechanism. It was hard to keep a grip on the metal with sticky fingers.

“Hang in there, kid,” Nile soothed him. Alex felt one gore streaked hand run through his hair reassuringly before Nile left to manage the rest of the building.

Julius had died laughing, cackling a shrill hysterical sound like that of a wild animal. Had he been any different than the lions mounted in the hallways?

Alex wondered what he would have been- a trophy for Grief to flaunt and display and keep locked away on a pedestal. Maybe if Grief had lived, he would have turned Julius into taxidermy.

The door opened under the weight of a battering ram, splintering into shrapnel. Alex didn’t stir. His hands traced the gouged hollow of Julius’ eye socket. It felt like school glue.

“Oh shit,” Daniels said, standing in the doorway with two more armored individuals behind him. They all had guns, different guns than the German guards. “‘Oh _shit. _Kid, hey, Aleks right? You okay buddy?”

“Not really,” Alex said. “ I think I have a concussion.”

“You’re okay,” Daniels said, squatting next to Alex to gently divert his attention away from the corpse. Another agent hastily dragged Julius away, leaving a bright red smear on the red carpet. Another agent found Grief’s butchered skull.

“Hey, Aleks. Are you sure you’re alright? Nothing broken? Bleeding at all?”

Alex’s hands flexed loosely, contorting a bit in the wave of disorientation. Daniels calmly offered his arm. Unflinchingly, he took the brunt of Alex’s reflexively tight grip.

“I…” Alex trailed off. “He...bit me.”

“Okay, you did good,” Daniels soothed him. He tugged a little on Alex’s shirt to better see the bite Julius took from him. “I bet it hurts, doesn’t it?”

“Wolf,” one of the agents said from across the office. “It’s punctured straight through, slight trajectory curve. Shortsword, maybe fifty centimeters long.”

“You sure?” Wolf asked, trying to speak as quietly as he could with Alex’s proximity.

“No doubt. Looks like a katana curve but shorter. Maybe a tanto, or a wakizashi.”

“That means _nothing _to me,” Wolf muttered sourly. “Hey, Aleks. Think you can stand? I can’t carry you the whole way, buddy.”

“Wolf! Movement on the Eastern side looks like four more guards approaching from the slope!”

“Heard us break in then,” Wolf grimaced. “Alright kid, we’re out of time. I guess I _am _carrying you. Time to blow this prison.”

Daniels (Wolf?) didn’t bother waiting for Alex to stand, instead he hauled him up and over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry. Alex yelped slightly, wheezing at the force of a Kevlar-reinforced shoulder slamming into the unprotected flesh of his stomach. Alex’s ribs groaned in protest, even as the man sprinted through the hallways.

“Clear!” one of the agents shouted, holding an automatic rifle. “Second hallway clear, Wolf!”

They moved fast and furious. Somewhere above them rang rapid gunfire. Alex wondered if the rest of the mockeries- Nero and Genghis and Hannibal, were fighting their way out.

“Main entry is clear,” the agent ahead of them reported. “I’ve received contact that air support is on its way.”

“Air?” Alex gasped out, feeling a bit startled. “You have a helicopter?”

“No,” Wolf grunted as they stormed towards the main grand staircase. “Hate heights. Taking the long way out, bastards will think we went air.”

Wolf’s hip crackled into static, a small black box that must have been a radio of some form. Wolf slapped it with his one hand, the other keeping his gun steady.

“Report.”

_“Unidentified hostile. Anti-Air unit on North battlement!”_

“The hell?” Wolf said. “We had visuals that they _didn’t _have any air defense! What are they using? What caliber?”

_“I- Epsi is down, I repeat. Epsi is down. It appears to be single shots.”_

“Jesus, a sniper?” Wolf asked. The other agents looked just as grim. “In _this _weather? Shit, okay boys we’re heading for the motors stat. We’ve got one hostage in minor condition.”

The radio crackled again. _“Hear you Wolf. I’ve got one hostage in critical condition, unlikely to make it. Others are compromised same as you found the others.”_

“Dammit, **SCORPIA**,” Wolf gnashed his teeth. “Come on, get out of there now. Don’t know where that fucker is-.”

“Wolf!” an agent shouted, firing down the hallways in a series of four abrupt shots. Alex faced the wrong way, he didn’t know what was going on.

“It was a trap,” Wolf hissed. “A goddamn trap, that’s why this kid is fine. New priority, we get this kid out _now. _Only chance of intel, _move!”_

Alex couldn’t keep track of what was happening, he just knew that the gunfire made his ears ring. His concussion made his vision swirl, and at some point, he vomited all down Wolf’s back.

The cold hit him like a punch. He whimpered, wriggling slightly but Wolf secured him down with two hands. A helicopter shrieked nearby, an unholy grinding a mechanical device should never make.

“Kid, kid you with me?” Wolf said kneeling in snow. When had they gotten outside?

“You need to stay awake, okay? I think you may have a brain bleed, but you’ll be fine.”

“We’re outside?” Alex asked, feeling very confused. “Where’s…”

“My team is holding them off,” Wolf soothed gently. He ran his fingers through Alex’s hair, trying to clean him with some snow. “I need you to put on this helmet, it’ll hurt a bit but it’s only for a while.”

Alex nodded numbly. His vision flickered and...and they were driving somewhere. Wolf wrapped around him, tying Alex to his chest with some sort of cord. Alex hadn’t been on a snowmobile before. It felt a bit like a motorcycle.

Alex slumped over at some point, waking up from Wolf sharply jerking and shouting at him. Alex didn’t have any memory of getting to the bottom of the mountain, or what happened to the rest of the team. All he could hazily recall was a stretcher being hurried into a large jet, manned by tactical agents holding heavy ammunition.

This shouldn’t have happened. Nile said he would take care of the MI6 agent and find out what they knew- make it seem like an overall tragedy mission.

“Hey, kid,” Wolf said, gripping Alex’s shoulder carefully. “You okay?”

“I’m thrilled,” Alex said.

Wolf smirked tiredly, looking a bit more casual now that he removed his fancy gear. Wolf had a square jawline, always hidden under the guard helmet.

“Glad to hear it. You had some minor issues with your head, all sorted out now. Nasty hit over the head and your neck just missed your carotid otherwise you’d be dead. Likely why you’re even alive.”

_Because Julius missed, while half-blind. _“So I’m out of there?”

“Don’t worry about it, kid.”

For the next hazy collection of hours, Alex drifted back and forth in a state of medicated slumber. A bed so uncomfortable it could only be infirmary, while the low chatter of guards circulated. Breezy like a cargo plane, automated cold like a passenger flight.

A doctor drifted about, muttering phrases and terms Alex had never heard before. Wolf looked a bit unhappy, somehow sustaining a single bullet through his arm.

There were only three agents on the plane; it had been made to transport a lot more.

“What a fucking mess,” Wolf said furiously. He had been gazing out of the window. Alex remembered it in one of his more lucid moments when the sugary thick feeling of painkillers didn’t drag him under.

“What a _goddamn _mess. All this for one kid? Nine agent casualty mission, with fifteen hostage deaths? Bullshit, this whole thing is _bullshit-.”_

And then Alex woke up feeling sore and miserable with a ringing headache and a bandage making his hair stand up a mess.

He was escorted gently out of the plane by one worried doctor, acting as if Alex was incapable of _breathing _on his own.

It was..._demeaning. _Nile had taught him how to throw knives and now people were pissing themselves if Alex so much as sneezed.

“This way, kid,” Wolf guided him, one arm in a sling. Wolf seemed to take Alex as his personal responsibility. Making sure he got where he was going.

A nine-agent casualty mission. That seemed like a lot, especially since only twelve of them had gone in.

Alex wondered if Yassen was worried about him.

“How long has it been?” Alex asked, stumbling only slightly. Wolf pointed out their car. He helped escort Alex in the right direction.

“Four days, a bit long but eh,” Wolf dismissed with cautious eyes. “The doctor kept you out for some of it, just to make sure nothing bad happened. Some minor swelling was putting pressure on your skull, but you’ll be fine now.”

Peachy, just peachy.

The car started off in a slight lunge. Alex gripped the seat around him the best he could. He demanded his seatbelt. The car drove on the left side of the road.

“You’re going to be fine,” Wolf assured him. “We ran your prints but couldn’t find anything. Once we get this mess sorted out, we’ll get you housed.”

His prints- because back on the boat forever ago Yassen had removed him from public eye by putting him in **SCORPIA**. His only identifier was the chip in his shoulder, that somehow managed to avoid detection. They must have kept all the medical scans localized to his head, instead of his entire body.

The car kept driving, pausing at the right points and looping around the round-about.

Alex couldn’t help the growing sense of dread. He knew these streets, the corners and the gloomy sky. He thought this was all behind him, but now he had been dragged back.

Wolf took him out of the car gently, mindful of their matching immobilized left arm. Alex’s neck itched, the imprint of Julius’ teeth sunk deep.

“This won’t be long, promise,” Wolf said. He escorted him up the steps of a nameless brick building, having parked in the empty lot behind it. Alex knew this parking lot. Alex knew this building. His stomach twisted, he forced the bile back down.

He had jumped out of this building more than a year ago.

* * *

Wolf and Alex walked up the twisting staircases, a little slower than normal since both were injured. Alex’s head played havoc on his depth perception, but it would heal in time.

“It’s the first of May,” Wolf explained. “If you were curious.”

Small talk. Alex missed Yassen’s silence.

They walked along a hallway, nameless and unimportant. No animal heads on the walls, no thick carpets. Hardwood flooring and pale plaster. Alex felt his terror give way to hate. His shoulder itched, burning and tingling slightly with a subtle prick. If his arm hadn’t been immobilized to reduce movement of his neck, he would have scratched it.

“Wolf,” a woman said politely from where she looked out of a window. She turned her back to it, crinkling an empty candy wrapper between her nails.

Alex spent no time looking at her, he had eyes only for the man behind the desk who had eyes too large for his own good.

“Ma’am,” Wolf grunted, gratefully accepting the seat offered across from the desk. Alex silently settled in his seat, gripping one armrest to prevent himself from running. He couldn’t, not yet.

“You did well,” Alan Blunt said, looking only at Wolf. “The situation was well beyond what we anticipated, given the brief mission updates we received in transmit.”

“In all honesty, sir,” Wolf said. “It was a complete goddamn clusterfuck.”

The woman inhaled, then exhaled through her nose very quickly. Mrs. Jones, the second in command.

“I heard,” Alan Blunt sympathized. “We’ve had to hush up the situation. The global impact has already been devastating, but we have orchestrated it as an unfortunate gas leak that, due to the temperature, scaled out of control.”’

A gas leak.

They were hiding everything, under a bloody _gas leak._

“All information was wiped before we could even get there. They had contingency plans,” Wolf said. “We looked, but my intelligence squad found nothing of use. Then they all died.”

“Yes,” Mrs. Jones said with a sigh. “We had not realized **SCORPIA**’s involvement.”

“Bullshit!” Wolf snarled. “I told you well in advance! **SCORPIA** was all in there, _Nile _was in there! And what do you do? Send me air support? Fat lot that did when they had bloody _backup.”_

Alan Blunt looked genuinely puzzled. Alex clenched the armrest a little tighter. His left arm buzzed, like a nerve had been pinched sharply. He wished his arm wasn’t confined to a sling. His entire left side burst into a flare of discomfort- not pain, but close. The bite must have damaged his nerves as well.

Wolf looked like being in the room itself pained him.

“We didn’t know about the sniper,” Alan Blunt said. “Whoever they are, they are remarkably talented to operate in such condition.”

“They took out _two _choppers through snow, they aren’t talented they’re _freakish.” _

“Nonetheless,” Mrs. Jones said gently. “Your work is greatly appreciated, Wolf. You managed to recover a victim in this cruel circumstance, and for that we are eternally thankful.”

Wolf scowled. “Yeah? Your little mission objective was goddamn psychotic. Alex Rider tried to rip this kid’s throat out, _with his teeth.”_

Alan Blunt’s eyes slid over with keen focus. “Is this true?”

Alex kept the absolute fury out of his voice. He managed a solid level of acceptable anger. “Nobody liked him.” _Julius. _“He threatened to kill me a half dozen times.”

Alan Blunt sat back in his chair with a thoughtful frown.

“That is...unfortunate. The boy experienced hardship, it is understandable. Thank you for your service. Your actions aided our efforts and reduced further casualties.”

Alex wished that _he _could tear out Alan Blunt’s throat. He was tired, itchy, and his arm hurt. “Right.”

The sun was shining outside, a bright cheery day. No lights were lit inside the office, it was filled only with shadows. Alex disliked it.

Somewhere, a tiny flash of light occupied his attention. He looked away quickly, so Wolf would not glance at the same window.

“This kid was the reason we even got in,” Wolf said. “Security was too tight. It was only because your little objective was so wild that Aleks even agreed to help.”

“Thank you,” Mrs. Jones said sincerely.

Alan Blunt looked a tad puzzled. “Is that so? Do you perhaps know _how _Alex Rider came to be within Point Blanc?”

Oh, they hadn’t known how Alex got there himself then. They had no idea that he had arrived with Yassen, or that Yassen was even _there._

“No, I didn’t hang out much with him. We fought.”

“Clearly so,” Mrs. Jones said. She turned her focus to Wolf. “How did you find Alex Rider?”

“Sprawled across this kid, with his eye ripped out, face mauled to shit, and a sword shoved through his goddamn brain.”

Mrs. Jones lifted one hand to her mouth in shock, face pale.

“Amazing, what damage a little prick can do,” Alex said as flatly as he could.

Wolf’s mouth twitched into a tiny smile. “Anyways, Nile decapitated the other hostages, and rammed through the director. All your info is scrap, and your kid is dead.”

“And still, you have brought one witness,” Blunt said. “Does Wolf’s story match to your perspective on the events?”

Alex swallowed and jerked his head in a nod. The window had another flash of light, twice in quick progression. His shoulder buzzed with a bright flare of pain, he winced and shifted his posture. None of the adults gave it any mind.

“It…” Alex trailed off, making sure he had all eyes in the room on him. “...Alex knocked me out, and when I came to, I knew he was trying to start...something bad. So I went to talk to Doctor Grief and…”

The window threw another shadow, subtle and slow and Alex felt his confidence return all at once. “I confronted Alex, and Alex attacked me. We were fighting on the floor, and then Nile killed him.”

“I see,” Alan Blunt said. “And Doctor Grief?”

“Nile stabbed him then too. Alex tore out my throat, so I think Nile thought I was dead.”

Mrs. Jones crossed her arms, her back to the window as she evaluated Alex. “That sounds like quite the ordeal. You must be exhausted.”

“Aleks, was it?” Blunt asked him. “Russian perhaps? I must inquire, all the children at Point Blanc seemed to be related to families of significant power. We would appreciate reuniting you with your family but find ourselves at a loss.”

“Yeah,” Alex said. “I went to Point Blanc with my...dad, I guess.”

“Your father?” Mrs. Jones asked with a baffled lilt.

“Aleks, who is your father?” Blunt asked him with a very measured voice.

Alex relaxed, and paid no mind to the shadows of the room. “My name is Aleks Gregorovich. My dad is right outside your window.”

The three adults froze. Then, slowly, they turned to face the window directly across from Alex. A stealth helicopter hovered, silent in its approach on the other side of the soundproof glass. It’s mounted turret clearly capable of penetrating bulletproof material, along with the massive sniper rifle resting in the passenger seat of the cockpit.

“Oh look, there he is,” Alex said casually.

_Let’s try this again._

Alex lifted his one good arm and waved. Yassen Gregorovich waved back.


End file.
